dray 


r\ 


LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 


''But  just  to  square  myself  s'pose  you  go  get  her  a  nice 
rump  steak  and  then  let  me  pay  for  it;  don't  that  show  that 
I'm's  much  of  a  philanthropist  as  Bill  ?"  ,Sgg  .  x 


LITTLE 
SIR   GALAHAD 


BY 

PHOEBE  GRAY 

ILLUSTRATED  BY  F.  LILEY  YOUNG 


BOSTON 

SMALL,  MAYNARD   &   COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS 


COPYRIGHT,  1914 

BY  SMALL,   MAYNARD  AND  COMPANY 
(INCORPORATED) 


Second  Printing,  March,  1913 
Third  Printing,  March,  1915 
Fourth  Printing,  March,  1915 


8.  J.  FARKHILL  &  Co.,  BOSTON,  U.S.A. 


TO 

EVERY  ONE 

WHO   DELIGHTS    IN   THE    LOVE    OF   CHILDREN 

,AND 

BELIEVES    IN    HUMAN    SALVATION   THROUGH    LOVE 
AND    SERVICE 

THIS  BOOK  IS  DEDICATED 


2135958 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I  ON  CLIPPER  HILL '.  i 

II  THE  PUNISHMENT 12 

III  A  MONARCH,  AND  OTHERS  ....  22 

IV  IN  A  FARMHOUSE  KITCHEN    ...  35 
V  AN  OLD  ACQUAINTANCE 55 

VI   THE  GALAHAD  KNIGHTS 75 

VII  A  MATTER  OF  GRAVITY 84 

VIII   THE  RETURN  OF  LEM 107 

IX  FOUND:  A  SOUL 128 

X  JOHN  WILLETT  —  MODEL  CITIZEN  140 

XI  THE  GIRLS  IN  THE  "  GLOVES  "    .  149 

XII  THE  BESTEST  CHRISTMAS    ....  158 

XIII  THE  EARNEST  MR.  STUBBS    ...  179 

XIV  DOCTOR  BILLY 187 

XV  THE  HOPEFUL  DAYS 202 

XVI   SOME  LETTERS  AND  AN  OUTING   .  216 
vii 


viii  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XVII  AFTER  Six  YEARS 235 

XVIII  A  LETTER  FROM  THE  DEAN    .   .  252 

XIX  RODNEY  JONES  OF  THE  View     .  263 

XX  THE  NEW  ASSISTANT 275 

XXI  AT  THE  BOREAS  CLUB     ....  285 

XXII   "SAY  You  'LL  MARRY  ME,  OR—"  298 

XXIII  Two  INTERVIEWS 309 

XXIV  LIVES  AND  SOULS 322 

;:  XXV  THE  LIGHT  OF  DAWN 339 

XXVI  THE  MYSTERIOUS  CARTOONIST  .  349 

XXVII  Two  YEARS  LATER 359 

XXVIII   "A  SYMBOL  OF  THE  GRAIL"  .   .  372 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


PAGE 


"  But  just  to  square  myself  s'pose  you  go  get 
her  a  nice  rump  steak  and  then  let  me 
pay  for  it ;  don't  that  show  that  I  'm  's 
much  of  a  philanthropist  as  Bill  ?"  Frontispiece 

Just  then  the  door  swung  open  and  Lena, 
quite  red  in  the  face,  replied:  "Here  I 
be."  He  was  pushing  before  him  a  big 
and  commodious  wheel-chair.  "That's 
what  I  wanted  to  go  to  town  for  "...  172 

Jones  took  home  the  sketch  and  hung  it  with 
a  pin  on  the  wall.  "  If  that 's  the  kind 
of  a  chap  I  am,"  he  would  repeat,  "  I  'm 
going  to  change  or  bust.  No  wonder  I 
never  had  a  decent  job  before  "  ....  272 

The  flat  bottom  of  the  toboggan  swept  the 
ice  with  a  high-pitched  roar;  the  swift 
wind  pressed  upon  her  like  a  wall  of  water  296 

"Let  me  see,"  the  merchant  said  to  Mary 
Alice  Brown,  "have  you  some  of  those 
new  washable  chamois,  size  seven  and 

three-quarters?" 314 

ix 


LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 


LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 


CHAPTER  I 

ON  CLIPPER  HILL 

MARY  ALICE  BROWN,  with  the  washing  for 
Mrs.  Travers  on  a  boy's  express  wagon, 
trudged  earnestly  up  the  long  slope  of  Clip- 
per Hill.  Once  or  twice  she  slewed  the  front 
wheels  around  and  let  the  wagon  slide  back 
against  the  baseboard  of  the  fence,  to  keep  it 
from  scooting  off  down  the  hill,  while  she 
rested  and  got  back  a  part  of  her  breath. 
The  big  washing,  packed  solidly  into  the  small 
cart  and  bulging  over  the  sides  like  an  alder- 
man's waistcoat,  resembled  a  young  mountain 
on  wheels,  and  you  wondered  if  Mary  Alice 
would  ever  get  to  the  top  of  the  hill.  Then 
you  saw  in  Mary  Alice's  wan  little  face  a  de- 
termination that  made  up  for  what  her  thin 
arms  and  legs  lacked  in  strength.  Yes,  she 
would  get  to  the  top,  somehow. 


2  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

Mary  Alice  was  twelve,  and  skinny  for  her 
size.  Great  solemn  eyes  gazed  at  you  from 
beneath  a  not  very  tidy  mass  of  black  hair 
innocent  of  adornment.  To  look  carefully  at 
Mary  Alice  made  you  suddenly  remember 
with  shame  the  last  time  you  declined  to  drop 
pennies  into  the  outstretched  cup  of  that 
blind  fiddler  in  City  Park  Square. 

The  things  that  make  little  girls  attractive 
are  cleanliness,  plumpness  and  nice  clothes. 
Mary  Alice  failed  in  all  three,  yet  she  made 
a  pathetic,  mute  claim  upon  your  attention. 
After  you  met  her  dragging  the  heavy  little 
cartload  of  laundry  up  hill,  her  two  big 
eyes  stayed  'in  your  consciousness  for  some 
time. 

Mary  Alice's  mother  said  it  was  funny  how 
the  little  girl  generally  managed  to  do  the 
thing  she  set  out  to  do,  no  matter  how  hard 
it  was.  The  discrepancy  between  the  sizes  of 
washing  and  child  had  ceased  to  give  Mrs. 
Brown  the  uneasiness  with  which  she  had 
watched  Mary  Alice  start  out  on  her  first 
delivery  trip.  The  washing  had  never  failed 
to  arrive  at  Mrs.  Travers's  house  in  good  con- 
dition and  season. 


ON  CLIPPER  HILL  3 

Mary  Alice  set  her  solemn  little  face  toward 
the  summit  and  climbed  the  slope  steadily. 
It  was  early  evening.  The  sun  had  slipped 
away  behind  the  farther  slope  of  Clipper  Hill, 
leaving  a  hot  red  field  of  thinly  clouded  sky 
behind,  which  now  blazed  ruddily,  so  that 
the  crest  of  the  long  slope  ended  at  a  shining 
gateway  formed  by  the  arching  elms.  Clipper 
Hill  was  the  aristocratic  avenue  of  Sheffield. 

The  suggested  symbolism  of  that  long 
climb,  up  which  she  struggled  with  her  too 
heavy  burden  of  newly  cleansed  linen;  the 
flaming  promise  of  the  golden  gateway  at  the 
top ;  even  the  treasure  —  one  dollar  and  sev- 
enty-five cents  —  which  she  would  receive  to 
crown  her  successful  pilgrimage,  these  were 
lost  upon  Mary  Alice  Brown.  Her  back 
ached;  so  did  her  arms,  legs,  and  head.  Con- 
sciousness of  these  afflictions  left  no  space  in 
her  soul  for  symbolism,  although  there  was 
room  enough  in  her  stomach.  She  had  had 
no  supper. 

Three  boys  came  racing  down  the  hill, 
shouting  and  taunting  one  another.  All  had 
been  recently  fed  in  their  respective  homes 
along  the  select  highway.  Mary  Alice  saw 


4  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

them  charging  down  upon  her  like  an  ava- 
lanche, and  shrank  asidelto  let  them  pass. 

You  cannot  account  for  the  impulses  of 
boys  on  any  ground  of  malice  or  depravity. 
A  boy  is  the  most  experimenting  of  animals, 
yearning  always  to  see  what  will  happen  under 
any  set  of  untested  circumstances.  Desiring 
to  scrutinize  the  activities  of  a  wingless  fly, 
he  takes  the  most  direct  route.  Curiosity, 
not  cruelty,  should  be  charged  with  the  onus 
of  the  deed.  To  say  that  a  boy  is  bad  because 
he  produces  bad  results  would  be  much  too 
sweeping. 

Two  of  the  three  avalanching  youths  passed 
Mary  Alice  and  her  wagon  harmlessly.  The 
third,  several  paces  in  rear,  became  instan- 
taneously possessed  of  that  iatal  experimental 
impulse.  What  would  the  large  rotund  bulk 
on  the  little  wagon  look  like  if  set  rolling  down 
Clipper  Hill?} 

He  thrust  out  a  hand,  caught  the  wagon 
tongue  from  Mary  Alice,  and  sent  the  load 
spinning  along  the  asphalt.  It  slewed  and 
skidded,  tipped  on  two  wheels,  swung  around, 
and  thrust  itself  stupidly  against  the  fence, 
where  it  turned  turtle.  The  bundle  of  laundry 


ON  CLIPPER  HILL  5 

ruptured  instantly,  and  a  shower  of  miscella- 
neous linen  scattered  in^the  street. 

It  all  happened  so  suddenly  that  Mary  Alice 
was  quite  stunned.  Then,  with  a  protesting 
cry  of  anger  and  chagrin,  she  ran  a  few  steps 
after  the  fleeing  youth,  shouting  shrill  in- 
coherencies  of  wrath.  He  looked  over  his 
shoulder  at  the  result  of  his  wanton  impulse 
and  laughed.  Mary  Alice  wept  miserably  and 
began  picking  up  the  soiled  and  undeliver- 
able  pieces. 

She  heard  quick  steps  and  felt  the  wind  of 
a  passing  solid,  seemingly  propelled  out  of 
ordnance,  a  human  and  wiry  projectile.  Then 
followed  snarling,  high-pitched  cries,  the  thud 
of  blows,  the  rattle  of  toes  and  heels  upon 
stone.  A  few  yards  down  the  street  vengeance 
had  overtaken  the  malefactor  —  punishment 
hard  upon  the  heels  of  misdemeanor. 

"I  fixed  him,"  said  a  voice,  chokedly 
breathless.  "He  won't  do  that  again  in  a 
hurry." 

Mary  Alice  looked  up  into  a  face  designed 
for  good  humor,  but  just  now  devoted  to  the 
scarlet  purpose  of  wrath.  The  blue  eyes 
flashed  the  mixed  light  of  indignation  and 


6  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

complacence.    The  red  hair  seemed  to  bristle 
with  truculence  and  pride. 

"I  fixed  him,"  said  the  voice,  again  and 
again,  between  hard-drawn  breaths.  "I  fixed 
him.  I  fixed  him  —  did  n't  I,  now?" 

Mary  Alice  went  on  soberly  picking  up  her 
scattered  load.  Vaguely  the  possibilities  of 
this  pugnacity  stirred  in  her  mind.  Maybe 
the  boy  would  "fix"  her,  too.  But  all  at  once 
he  grinned. 

"Let  me  help  you,"  he  said.  "Are  they  all 
dirty?  It's  too  bad.  What  are  you  goin'  to 
do  with  'em?" 

"Take  'em  home  again,"  replied  Mary- 
Alice.  ' '  Mother  '11  have  to  wash  'em  all  over. ' ' 

"Well,  I  fixed  him,  all  right,"  asserted  her 
champion.  "  I  saw  him  do  it  —  dirty  trick,  I 
call  it.  But  I  fixed  him  good  —  did  n't  I?  " 

It  was  as  though  having  "fixed"  the  culprit 
had  quite  remedied  the  matter.  The  red- 
headed boy  picked  up  the  last  dust-smutted 
napkin  and  watched  Mary  Alice  pack  the  big 
misshapen  load  into  place.  She  swung  the 
little  wagon  away  from  the  fence  and  in 
silence  started  down  the  hill. 

"Where  you  goin'?"  demanded  the  boy. 


ON  CLIPPER  HILL  7 

"Home." 

"Where's  that?" 

"Calvert  Street." 

"Oh,"  said  the  boy.  He  knew  all  about 
Calvert  Street  by  reputation.  It  ran  through 
the  neighborhood  known  as  "The  Devil's 
Truck  Patch." 

"I  guess  I '11  go  'long  with  you,"  he  decided. 
"  Maybe  those  fellows  might  bother  you  some 
more;  they  won't  if  I'm  along,  though." 

Mary  Alice  neither  accepted  nor  rejected 
this  proposal.  She  went  silently  down  the 
hill,  leaning  back  to  check  the  pace  of  her 
loaded  wagon. 

"What's  your  name?"  demanded  the  boy. 

"Mary  Alice  Brown." 

"Mine's  Willett,  Francis  Willett,"  he  in- 
formed her,  quite  gratuitously.  "  I  'm  a  Gala- 
had Knight." 

Mary  Alice  Brown  showed  no  curiosity 
concerning  the  complexion  or  duties  of  a 
Galahad  Knight. 

"It's  a  club,"  Francis  explained.  "We 
have  ten  members  and  we're  all  pledged  to 
puttect  the  weak  against  the  strong.  That's 
why  I  licked  Lutey  Travers.  I  got  up  the 


8  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

club  myself  —  read  all  about  the  idea  in  a 
book.  A  knight  is  a  fellow  that  swears  that 
whenever  he  sees  beauty' —  " 

The  knight  paused  and  scrutinized  Mary 
Alice's  thin  face  as  they  passed  under  an 
electric  light ;  for  the  golden  gate  at  the  street 
head  had  now  faded,  as  all  symbols  are  prone 
to  do.  He  went  on: 

"Er  —  beauty  —  or    anything  —  in    dis- 
tress.    Of  course  you  are  n't  —  that  is,  you 
were  in  distress,  so  I  came  to  your  rescue  - 
see?" 

He  steadied  the  toppling  wagon  as  Mary 
Alice  eased  it  across  a  curbstone.  The  little 
girl  heard  his  complacent  chatter  all  too  in- 
distinctly. It  filtered  inconsequentially  up 
through  a  black  cloud  of  fear  and  dread.  She 
had  never  got  into  trouble  with  the  washing 
before.  What  would  happen?  She  was  going 
home  empty-handed  and  —  they  needed  the 
money  so  bitterly.  She  wondered  if  her 
father  would  be  there.  If  so  it  would  be  ten 
times  worse.  Her  mother  would  forgive  her 
and  go  patiently  to  rewashing  the  soiled 
things,  but  the  man  — 

Mary  Alice   shuddered.     Francis   Willett, 


ON  CLIPPER  HILL  9 

finding  in  his  own  virtue  a  reward  heightened 
by  rehearsal,  babbled  cheerfully  of  Galahad 
Knights  and  explained  in  detail  how  they  dif- 
fered from  Boy  Scouts.  Mary  Alice  wished 
he  would  go  away. 

At  last  they  came  to  Calvert  Street,  thread- 
ing the  Devil's  Truck  Patch.  It  was  full  of 
people;  men  and  women  lounged  upon  front 
stoops,  children  in  droves  played  on  the  pave- 
ment. Both  sidewalks  were  bordered  with 
the  window  lights  of  stores,  largely  saloons. 
It  was  a  tough  neighborhood.  Francis  Willett 
had  never  seen  that  street  before.  Some 
raucous-voiced  urchins  swarmed  by,  jostling 
and  boisterous.  They  were  very  dirty  and 
very  happy.  The  boy  from  Clipper  Hill  lost 
a  little  of  his  assurance.  A  drunken  man 
lunged  past,  swaying  and  tottering,  and  as  he 
went  he  mumbled  thick  blasphemies. 

"My  gracious!"  said  the  boy,  a  little  ap- 
palled. "  Do  you  have  to  live  here?  " 

"'Course  I  do,"  answered  Mary  Alice.  It 
was  almost  the  first  time  she  had  spoken. 
"My  folks  live  here.  I  got  to  stay  with 
them,  ain't  I?" 

"I  —  I  suppose  so.    Which  is  your  house? " 


10  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

Mary  Alice  turned  up  an  alley,  narrow  and 
dimly  lighted  and  crowded.  Before  a  tene- 
ment house  she  stopped. 

"Here's  where  I  live,"  she  said.  She  did 
not  invite  her  escort  in;  she  did  not  thank 
him  for  his  knightly  conduct;  she  looked  at 
him  and  wished  he  would  go  away.  He  was 
very  smug,  in  his  neat  clothes,  with  his 
round,  good-humored,  complacent  face.  He 
had  never  known  a  trouble  in  the  world. 

"Oh,  yes,"  he  said,  craning  his  neck  to 
view  the  spider  web  of  fire  escapes  that  dec- 
orated the  front  of  the  building.  "Well,  I 
guess  I  won't  stay.  My  father  does  n't  like 
for  me  to  —  Say,  here 's  a  present  for  you. 
The  Galahad  Knights  are  all  pledged  to  — " 

He  held  out  something  in  his  hand,  some- 
thing which  he  drew  from  a  pocket  where  it 
jingled  against  others  of  its  kind.  It  was  a 
particularly  shiny  half-dollar. 

Mary  Alice  looked  into  the  good-natured, 
self-assured  prosperity  of  Francis  Willett's 
boyish  face;  then  she  looked  down  at  the 
coin.  All  the  way  home  he  had  impressed 
her  with  his  abundant  good  will  toward  the 
weak  and  helpless.  He  was  not  a  child  like 


ON  CLIPPER  HILL  11 

herself,  a  companion,  but  a  self-righteous  lit- 
tle prig,  puffed  up  with  his  own  virtuous  con- 
ceit. Of  course  Mary  Alice  did  not  think 
this  in  just  those  terms,  but  her  whole  starved 
little  being  stung  with  the  sense  of  the  fact. 
She  became  furious  and  suddenly  struck  the 
offered  coin  from  her  would-be  benefactor's 
extended  palm. 

Then  she  turned  and  ran  blindly  up  the 
steps  and  slammed  the  door  with  a  bang  that 
astonished  the  young  philanthropist  even 
more  than  it  angered  him.  He  too  turned 
and,  leaving  the  coin  where  it  had  fallen, 
stalked  off  down  the  alley  with  the  dignity 
of  offended  vanity. 


CHAPTER  II 

THE    PUNISHMENT 

LEM  BROWN  was  at  home.  He  sat  humped 
in  a  kitchen  chair,  stupidly  watching  his 
wife,  who  was  dabbing  her  cheek  with  cold 
water  at  the  sink.  Lem  had  just  struck 
Mrs.  Brown  because  Mary  Alice  did  not  come 
home  sooner  with  the  washing  money  from 
Mrs.  Travers.  Just  what  connection  he 
made  in  his  blurred  mind  between  his  wife 
and  the  non-appearance  of  his  daughter  is 
beside  the  point;  it  satisfied  him,  so  he  acted 
accordingly. 

Lem  would  not  have  come  home  at  all 
that  evening  except  that  he  was  entirely 
destitute.  He  could  not  seem  to  get  any 
more  liquor  without  money.  Bartenders  are 
a  singularly  unsympathetic  lot  when  the 
question  of  credit  is  broached,  and  free  spend- 
ers preferred  to  lavish  their  hospitality  upon 

12 


THE  PUNISHMENT  13 

good-natured  friends  rather  than  upon  the 
quarrelsome  Brown. 

The  only  steady  employment  Lem  had 
known  for  a  long  time  had  been  his  three 
months  of  enforced  industry  in  the  county 
workhouse.  He  was  entirely  out  of  patience 
with  work  for  himself.  But  it  gave  him  con- 
siderable satisfaction  to  know  that  his  wife 
could  command  employment  as  a  laundress 
by  some  of  the  best  families  in  the  city.  He 
was  an  authority  upon  athletic  sports  and 
spent  the  greater  part  of  his  time  in  places 
where  such  sports  were  discussed,  taking  his 
ample  part  in  all  arguments.  Every  morning 
he  saw  to  it  that  the  generosity  of  the  city 
in  supplying  park  benches  should  not  lack 
appreciation.  He  read  discarded  newspapers 
threadbare  and  was  aggressively  well  posted 
on  all  the  newest  things  in  pugilism.  *  He  also 
had  his  opinion  of  the  government,  city, 
state  and  national,  and  his  dictum  upon  in- 
ternational relations  carried  the  dignity  of  an 
ultimatum.  He  thoroughly  disapproved  of 
prohibition,  local  option,  or  any  actual  or 
suggested  restraint  of  trade  touching  upon 
the  distribution  of  stimulants. 


14  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

Lem  was  a  large,  knobby  man,  with  a  fore- 
head that  beat  a  hasty  retreat  from  his  eye- 
brows into  the  grizzled  jungle  of  his  hair,  a 
wobbly  chin,  and  a  prominent  under  lip.  His 
eyes  were  large  and  watery,  popping  halfway 
out  of  his  head  and  netted  with  the  red  veins 
of  alcoholism.  They  were  meaningless,  stupid 
eyes,  seldom  lighting  up  with  any  but  a  foggy 
sort  of  intelligence,  often  cloudy  with  drink, 
quite  incapable  of  expressing  any  softness  or 
human  sympathy.  He  was  always  dirty, 
always  sullen,  and  almost  always  more  or 
less  drunk.  When  more  than  ordinarily  in- 
toxicated, his  sullenness  became  a  dangerous, 
brutal  anger  against  all  opposition. 

"And  next  time  I'll  give  you  worse,"  he 
promised,  eying  his  wife.  "Here  I  am  in 
want  —  acshully  des'tute  —  and  not  a  penny 
do  I  get.  If  that  brat  don't  come  home  soon, 
I  'm  gonter  knock  your  head  off,  Mrs.  Brown." 

The  kitchen,  lighted  inadequately  by  a 
phthisical  gas  jet,  was  a  dismal  place,  choked 
with  the  redolence  of  Lem  Brown's  alcoholic 
aura.  In  a  corner  a  child  slept  uneasily.  A 
bottle  and  spoon  on  the  table  nearby  sug- 
gested that  the  occupant  of  the  shabby 


THE  PUNISHMENT  15 

crib  was  ill.  Mrs.  Brown  went  and  bent  over 
it,  listening  anxiously  to  the  quick,  irregular 
breathing. 

Steps  sounded  on  the  stairs  and  seemed  to 
hesitate  outside  the  door,  which  presently 
swung  open  to  admit  Mary  Alice.  She  looked 
fearfully  from  Lem  to  her  mother. 

"Hullo,  kid,"  said  Lem.  "What  kept 
you?" 

Mary  Alice  paid  no  attention  to  her  father, 
but  went  to  Mrs.  Brown  and  said  something 
in  a  low  tone.  The  woman  cried  out  in 
protest. 

"Oh,  no,  Mary  Alice,  you  didn't,  you 
did  n't,"  she  said. 

"What's  that?"  the  man  demanded. 
"None  of  that  secret  talk,  now." 

"You  better  bring  'em  up,  dear,"  said  the 
mother.  "  I  '11  do  'em  to-night." 

Mary  Alice  took  a  clothes  basket  and  went 
out. 

"Where 's  the  money?"  asked  Lem.  t 

"She  didn't —  Mrs.  Travers  didn't  pay 
her—" 

"  None  of  that,  now.  That  ain't  so.  You  're 
holdin'  out  on  me." 


16  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

"Lem,  it's  the  truth,"  said  Mrs.  Brown. 

Mary  Alice  staggered  up  the  stairs  with  a 
load  of  clothes  from  the  wagon,  and  Mrs. 
Brown  fell  to  sorting  them. 

"What 's  them  —  dirty  ones?"  asked  Lem. 
"Say,  where's  that  money?  You  come 
through,  now,  or  I'll  show  you  — " 

At  this  moment  the  child  in  the  crib 
awoke  and  cried  fretfully.  Mrs.  Brown  drew 
a  cup  of  water  at  the  sink  and  bent  over 
the  little  thing,  soothing  it  and  offering  cool 
drink. 

"Say,"  roared  Lem,  "how  long  you  gonter 
keep  me  waitin'?" 

He  arose  and  strode  to  his  wife's  side.  The 
sick  child  looked  up  and,  seeing  its  father, 
began  to  cry. 

"Git  away,"  said  Lem,  pushing  Mrs. 
Brown  violently.  "I'll  tell  you  what.  You 
gimme  that  money,  quick,  or  I'll  wring  the 
kid's  neck." 

It  was  an  inspiration  of  cruelty  of  un- 
doubted effectiveness.  If  Mrs.  Brown  had 
possessed  a  penny  on  earth,  she  would  have 
yielded  it  up  with  all  haste.  But  lacking  the 
resources  of  ransom,  there  was  only  one  thing 


THE  PUNISHMENT  17 

to  do,  and  she  did  it.  With  a  cry  the  mother 
threw  herself  upon  her  tormentor. 

"Don't  touch  him,  Lem!"  she  cried.  "I 
have  n't  a  cent,  I  tell  you;  if  I  had,  I'd  give 
it  to  you.  Oh,  Lem,  he's  so  sick!  Please, 
please — " 

The  drunkard  struck  her  heavily  upon  the 
mouth,  so  that  she  fell  against  the  wall.  She 
returned  to  the  encounter,  but  at  this  moment 
Mary  Alice,  ascending  with  the  last  of  the 
soiled  Travers  linen,  dropped  her  big  load 
and  attacked  the  man  fiercely.  He  turned 
upon  her  wolfishly,  his  heavy  hand  closing 
upon  her  thin  little  shoulder. 

" Butt  in,  will  you? "  he  said.  "Butt  in,  eh? 
I  '11  teach  you." 

He  stooped  and  picked  up,  from  the  wood 
box  near  the  range,  a  stick  not  large  enough 
to  be  called  a  club,  but  heavy  enough  to  be 
extremely  formidable  in  the  hands  of  Lem 
Brown.  With  it  he  aimed  a  blow  at  Mary 
Alice.  Throwing  up  her  hands,  she  received 
the  stroke  crushingly  upon  her  fingers. 

"Oh,  oh!"  she  moaned.  Mrs.  Brown 
screamed  and  would  have  defended  Mary 
Alice,  but  in  doing  so  was  herself  cruelly 


18  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

beaten.  Again  and  again  the  weapon  fell, 
each  time  crushing,  bruising,  lacerating.  Only 
Mary  Alice's  thick  black  hair  saved  her  skull. 

She  had  never  taken  such  a  beating  before. 
When  it  was  over,  she  cowered  in  a  corner, 
sobbing  with  the  horror  and  pain  of  it.  Why 
must  she  suffer  so?  Why  must  her  poor 
mother  stand  this  abuse,  this  infamy  of  pov- 
erty and  cruelty?  The  world  was  full  of  little 
girls  with  fresh  rosy  cheeks  and  fresh  crisp 
frocks  —  little  girls  with  comfortable  homes, 
who  saw  each  day  the  caresses  passing  cur- 
rent between  father  and  mother,  and  them- 
selves shared  in  that  currency.  People  talked 
about  a  God  of  love  and  pity,  who  saw  all 
that  went  on  and  was  so  much  the  master  of 
detail  in  His  earth  that  one's  hairs  were 
numbered,  and  the  twitter  of  a  falling  sparrow 
had  careful  attention. 

Mary  Alice  would  have  prayed,  but  it 
looked  like  a  hopeless  procedure;  for  if  God 
knew  all  about  it  and  let  it  go  on,  what  was 
the  good  of  asking  Him  to  help  her?  He 
either  meant  these  dreadful  things  to  happen 
or  He  did  n't  care. 

Lena,  convinced  that  if  money  existed  in 


THE  PUNISHMENT  19 

that  home  so  much  punishment  would  have 
brought  it  from  its  hiding-place,  stumped  off 
cursing  and  weeping,  with  maudlin  pity  for 
a  man  whose  home  was  thus  barren  of  finan- 
cial resource.  He  might  come  back  later,  he 
might  be  gone  a  week,  he  might  be  arrested 
before  another  hour  and  sent  away  for  a 
good  long  sentence.  Mary  Alice  hoped  the 
last-named  event  would  occur.  And  it  did, 
although  Mary  Alice  and  her  mother  were 
several  days  in  rinding  it  out. 

Mrs.  Brown  locked  the  door  leading  into 
the  hall. 

"Come,  dear,"  she  said.  "Undress  and 
let  me  look  at  you.  I  wish  I  had  some  witch- 
hazel.  Poor  little  girl,  poor  little  girl! 
Mother's  so  sorry." 

Mary  Alice  winced  every  time  her  mother's 
fingers  touched  her  flesh.  Mrs.  Brown  wept 
when  she  viewed  those  livid  imprints  upon 
the  meager  body  of  her  child.  For  every 
bruise  she  suffered  an  agony  of  sympathy 
which  dwarfed  her  own  pain,  itself  no  small 
thing. 

The  sick  baby  slept  quietly,  and  Mrs. 
Brown  pulled  his  crib  into  the  "other  room." 


20 

She  tried  to  make  Mary  Alice  comfortable  in 
her  own  bed,  and  presently,  having  turned 
out  the  gas,  crept  in  beside  her  daughter. 
Then  she  slept,  for  the  sick  child  had  stolen 
many  hours  of  her  rest,  and  her  hands  had 
not  known  an  idle  moment  for  many  days. 

Little  Mary  Alice,  twelve  years  old,  beaten, 
aching  in  every  fiber,  lay  a  long  time  in  a 
dumb  agony,  fearful  lest  any  movement  of 
hers  should  wake  her  mother.  After  a  while 
she  fell  to  sobbing;  but  this  soon  ceased,  and 
she  gazed  into  the  shadows  with  eyes  that 
smarted. 

A  great  longing  for  the  open  air  came  upon 
her;  the  night  was  hot  and  no  breeze  blew  in 
at  the  open  window.  Far  away  Mary  Alice 
heard  a  church  clock  strike.  The  hour  was 
nine.  She  slipped  out  of  bed,  slowly  and  with 
exquisite  pain.  With  Mary  Alice,  dressing 
was  not  so  complicated  a  procedure  that  it 
required  a  maid's  assistance  or  a  long  time  to 
accomplish.  When  she  turned  the  key  in  the 
door  to  let  herself  out,  she  thought  she  might 
be  back  in  half  an  hour.  She  was  slightly 
feverish,  and  if  she  walked  as  far  as  the 
park  — 


THE  PUNISHMENT  21 

And  then,  as  Mary  Alice  crept  down  the 
front  steps,  something  shining  in  the  gutter 
caught  her  eye.  It  was  Francis  Willett's 
half-dollar. 


CHAPTER  III 

A   MONARCH,   AND   OTHERS 

MARY  ALICE  hobbled  down  to  the  corner  of 
Calvert  Street,  stooping  and  limping  like  a 
very  old  woman.  She  felt  as  if  she  were  in  a 
sort  of  envelope  of  pain,  which  oppressed  her 
from  head  to  foot.  Hardly  any  part  of  her 
ached  worse  than  another. 

The  evening  was  still  quite  young,  and  the 
crowds  of  unkempt  children  rioted  in  Cal- 
vert Street,  while  their  elders  squatted  on 
front  stoops  and  gasped,  awaiting  a  benison 
of  breeze  and  chatting  meager  futilities  as 
they  waited.  All  along  the  walks,  lights 
shone;  and  as  Mary  Alice  threaded  her  way 
she  was  assailed  by  pungent,  volatile-seeming 
odors  from  basement  windows  or  swinging 
doors. 

A  deep  hatred  of  that  squalid  neighborhood 
made  the  little  girl  shudder.  She  wanted  to 
be  out  of  it.  It  suggested  nothing  but  hard- 

22 


A  MONARCH,  AND  OTHERS  23 

ship,  want,  misery.  Because  she  was  a  child, 
she  scorned  those  whom  circumstances  forced, 
as  they  forced  her,  to  have  their  being  there. 
Without  inquiring  as  to  causes,  she  asked, 
just  as  young  Willett  had  asked,  if  they  really 
lived  here.  They  were  a  poor,  spiritless 
breed  who  could  do  no  better  than  this  for 
themselves. 

Mary  Alice  had  been  born  in  the  country; 
she  remembered  what  trees  and  fields  and 
flowers  looked  like.  She  never  let  go  of  that 
picture,  though  it  was  growing  more  and  more 
blurred  in  her  mind.  As  the  picture  faded, 
her  longing  to  renew  it  increased. 

In  the  center  of  Sheffield  lay  a  broad  square, 
or  park,  a  fine  turfed  plaza  overlooked  by 
the  municipal  buildings  and  primped  with 
rows  of  subdued,  citified  trees.  Under  these 
trees  one  might  find  benches,  inhospitable 
and  slatted.  In  times  of  depression,  when  the 
forces  of  the  unemployed  were  greatly  aug- 
mented, men  might  sleep  upon  these  benches, 
undisturbed  by  the  police. 

This  turfed  breathing-spot  was  Mary 
Alice's  objective;  she  wanted  more  than  any- 
thing else,  she  thought,  fresh  air.  The  air 


24  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

in  City  Park  Square  might  not  be  99  yVV 
per  cent  pure,  it  might  lack  sparkle  and  tone, 
but  it  would  compare  most  favorably  with 
the  sort  of  breathing  material  used  in  the 
Devil's  Truck  Patch. 

But  as  the  child  emerged  from  the  purlieus 
of  Calvert  Street  into  the  more  elegant 
thoroughfares  of  the  town,  she  came  into  the 
zone  of  brighter  lights.  The  streets  skirting 
City  Park  were  peopled  with  a  more  pros- 
perous folk.  Stores  had  plate  glass  and  mir- 
rors and  displayed  ravishing  assortments  of 
merchandise.  Even  after  closing  hours,  show 
windows  and  reflecting  border  lights  may  work 
at  the  subtle  art  of  attracting  attention. 

Mary  Alice  studied  these  exhibits  with 
sidelong  admiration.  Her  pains  and  aches 
retired  into  subconsciousness.  The  little  girl 
loitered,  inviting  her  soul. 

Entrances  to  theaters  were  flanked  with  a 
dazzlement  of  lithography.  Tall  columns  of 
arc  lamps  spindled  loftily  skyward  above 
these  magic  portals.  Youths,  shaming  Solo- 
mon for  raiment,  decorated  the  vestibules, 
burning  the  cloying  incense  of  cigarettes.  To 
Mary  Alice  these  paid  no  heed. 


A  MONAJRCH,  AND  OTHERS  25 

Presently  the  little  girl  came  to  a  window 
with  a  character  of  its  own.  It  was  a  very 
large  window,  set  in  a  frame  of  snowy 
enamel.  Beyond  the  glass  blazed  the  porce- 
lain glories  of  a  quick  lunch.  Along  the 
window  ledge,  cunningly  fashioned  in  vit- 
reous tile,  towered  vast  pyramids  of  fruit, 
stacked  with  an  ingenuity  that  must  have 
required  technical  training.  Mary  Alice's 
mouth  began  to  water. 

But  the  chief  attraction  of  that  window, 
the  feature  that  suddenly  glued  Mary  Alice's 
shabby  little  feet  to  the  bricks  and  fixed  her 
large  black  eyes  in  a  stare  of  longing  fas- 
cination, was  the  griddle-cake  hot-plate,  its 
shining  black  surface  disked  with  yeasty 
moons  of  pure  gold. 

Behind  the  hot-plate  stood  a  fat  young 
man,  cased  starchily  in  a  sheath  of  white  duck 
and  crowned  with  a  rakish,  laundered  cap, 
tipped  over  one  moody  brow.  This  young 
man,  this  cook,  this  seeming  czar,  viewed  the 
triumphs  of  his  art  with  a  bored  and  jaun- 
diced eye.  On  a  thin-bladed  turner  he  manip- 
ulated the  delicacies,  and  tossed  them  with 
skilled  indifference  upon  a  plate  which  a 


26  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

Beautiful  Lady  came  and  removed  swiftly. 
Thereafter  the  deliberate,  toil-superior  mon- 
arch of  the  bubbling  batter  poured  other 
disks  from  a  vast  silver  pitcher  upon  the  hot- 
plate, and  these,  in  their  turn,  changed  to 
gold. 

"My  goodness!"  thought  Mary  Alice, 
11  don't  I  wish  I  had  - 

She  checked  suddenly,  for  the  conscious- 
ness of  that  coin  of  Francis  Willett's,  tightly 
held  in  a  moist  palm,  dawned  upon  her. 
Mary  Alice  forgot  all  about  the  other  great 
windows  along  the  street,  with  their  allure- 
ments of  silk  and  satin.  The  monarch  of 
the  hot-plate  became  almost  a  common  man 
to  her,  and  at  once  she  grinned  through  the 
window.  Whereupon  his  fat,  heavy  face 
separated  pleasantly  in  an  answering  smile, 
and  his  bored,  dull  eyes  brightened.  Mary 
Alice  turned  and  sought  the  entrance  to  this 
paradise. 

"I  want  some  of  them,"  she  said  to  the 
Beautiful  Lady,  when  she  had  seated  herself 
at  a  table  with  a  top  whiter  than  alabaster. 
The  Beautiful  Lady  was  a  pronounced  blonde 
with  a  pug  nose.  She  wore  abundant  and 


A  MONARCH,  AND  OTHERS  27 

crackly  white  skirts  that  stuck  out  daintily 
all  around,  and  at  her  belt  carried  a  little 
punch,  such  as  railway  conductors  use.  She 
had  brought  Mary  Alice  a  glass  of  ice  water. 
The  child  could  not  convince  herself  that  the 
Beautiful  Lady  was  altogether  cordial,  but 
she  jerked  a  thumb  toward  the  fat  back  of  the 
hot-plate  dignitary  and  repeated:  "I  want 
some  of  them,"  and  added:  "Please,  ma'am." 

The  Pronounced  Blonde  hesitated,  eying 
Mary  Alice  speculatively.  "You  got  any 
money?"  she  asked. 

Mary  Alice  displayed  her  half-dollar. 

"All  right,  dearie,"  said  the  Beautiful 
Lady;  and  then,  in  a  much  louder  tone,  she 
commanded:  "Brown  the  griddles."  A  mild 
form  of  physical  exertion  actuated  the  hot- 
plate prince. 

The  restaurant  was  hardly  patronized  at 
all  just  now.  The  steps  of  the  waitresses,  of 
whom  the  Beautiful  Lady  was  one,  clicked 
hollowly  upon  the  tiles.  Over  in  one  corner 
a  woman  on  her  knees  was  washing  beneath 
the  tables  and  along  the  aisles  between.  Mary 
Alice,  in  a  stiff-backed  chair  that  was  too 
high  for  her,  ached  and  waited. 


28  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

"Here  you  go,"  said  the  Beautiful  Lady 
cheerfully.  "Hungry?  You  like  sirup?  I 
brought  you  an  extra  pitcher  and  two  pats 
of  butter.  Want  a  glass  of  milk?" 

"I  have  to  — pay  for  it,  don't  I?"  asked 
Mary  Alice,  looking  up. 

"Well,  you  don't  think  we  —  "  began  the 
waitress;  then  she  made  a  quick  shift,  with 
an  eye  to  deceit.  "Never  mind.  It'll  be  all 
right." 

Mary  Alice,  busy  with  her  cakes  and  sirup, 
did  not  see  that  the  Beautiful  Lady  fumbled 
in  her  apron  pocket  as  she  approached  the 
service  counter. 

"Milk '11  make  you  fat,"  she  said,  setting 
the  cold  glass  down  by  Mary  Alice's  plate. 
It  was  an  enormous  glass,  a  regular  stand- 
pipe.  Mary  Alice  did  not  find  fault  because 
its  sides  were  abnormally  thick  or  because 
there  was  a  deep  hollow  under  the  bottom. 
She  drank  the  milk  and  marveled  that  she 
could  encompass  so  much  in  so  few  swallows. 
But  it  was  good  milk. 

At  a  nearby  table  sat  a  man,  eating  pie. 
He  poured  coffee  from  his  cup  into  his  saucer 
and  drank  from  the  saucer,  using  equal 


A  MONARCH,  AND  OTHERS  29 

parts  of  air  and  coffee  in  the  interests  of 
"  safety  first."  The  air  cooled  the  coffee  and 
made  a  pleasant,  homelike  sound  which 
proved  to  Mary  Alice  that  her  neighbor  was 
enjoying  himself. 

"Hullo,  sister,"  said  the  coffee  drinker. 
"Pretty  hungry?" 

Mary  Alice  nodded  shyly. 

"'S  a  good  'nough  place  to  eat,"  said  the 
man.  ' '  Did  you  get  tired  of  the  Waldemere ? ' ' 

"Now  don't,"  scolded  the  Beautiful  Lady 
in  an  undertone.  "You  shan't  make  fun  of 
that  poor  little  thing.  Men  are  the  des- 
pize-ablest  things.  I  think  she's  pitiful;  I 
could  cry  every  time  I  look  at  her.  Bill  says 
she  stood  the  longest  time,  watchin'  him  turn 
cakes,  before  she  made  up  her  mind  to  come 
in.  He's  awful  tenderhearted." 

"He  looks  it,"  agreed  the  coffee  drinker 
with  fine  irony.  "Bill  is  certainly  a  philan- 
throphist.  Think  of  all  the  people  that  stands 
outside  that  window  every  day  and  watches 
him.  Why,  he 's  likely  to  get  stage  fright  any 
day  and  put  sawdust  in  the  batter.  Haw, 
haw!  Tenderhearted!  Bill  tenderhearted! 
You  make  me  laugh  right  out  loud,  Gertie." 


30  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

"Just  the  same,  Bill  says,  'See  if  you 
can't  save  that  pore  young-one  from  payin',' 
he  says.  'Give  her  these  griddles  with  my 
compliments,'  he  says." 

"Haw,  haw,"  laughed  the  coffee  drinker. 
"  That 's  just  like  Bill.  How 's  he  goin'  to  check 
up?  Pay  for  'em  out  of  his  own  pocket?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  suppose  so,"  said  Gertie. 
"They  won't  cost  him  anything." 

"Bet  they  won't,"  cackled  the  man. 
"Bill's  very  tenderhearted,  very  —  when  it 
don't  cost  him  nothin'.  Now  see  here, 
Gertie,  tell  you  what.  I  was  n't  aimin'  to 
hurt  that  baby's  feelin's  when  I  said  what  I 
said.  But  just  to  square  myself  with  you, 
s'pose  you  go  get  her  a  nice  rump  steak  and 
then  let  me  pay  for  it;  don't  that  show  I'm 
's  much  of  a  philanthrophist  as  Bill?" 

It  was  very  gratifying  to  Mary  Alice 
Brown  to  find,  when  she  had  eaten  as  much 
as  she  could  hold  —  and  this  was  a  very  re- 
spectable quantity,  considering  her  years  and 
growth  —  that  she  had  nothing  at  all  to  pay. 
The  circumstance  of  her  nearest  benefactor's 
audible  coffee-consuming  procedure  disturbed 
her  not  at  all. 


A  MONARCH,  AND  OTHERS  31 

When  she  left  the  palace  of  tile  and  smiled 
a  wry  good  night  at  the  plump  batter  baron 
in  the  window,  she  thought  she  would  go 
home;  and  she  was  a  little  cheered  by  the 
continued  possession  of  her  half-dollar  and 
by  the  kindnesses  which  three  utter  stran- 
gers had  heaped  upon  her.  Her  bruises  still 
ached,  but  a  full  stomach  was  not  without 
soothing  effects.  The  air  in  City  Park 
seemed  very  sweet  and  cool;  the  little  girl 
wanted  more  of  it. 

"Aw  board  f'r  Gleasondale,  Roxford,  Pep- 
per's Mill,  Manterbury,  Cassville,  and  Hill- 
side Falls;  aw  board."  A  gong  clanged. 

Mary  Alice  looked  up  at  the  trolley  about 
to  begin  its  suburban  journey,  as  audibly 
catalogued  by  the  conductor.  That  car 
would  slide  along  through  an  endless  supply 
of  air  —  air  even  cooler  and  fresher  and 
sweeter  than  this  of  City  Park.  And  Mary 
Alice  had  money.  She  could  pay  her  fare 
out  and  back.  She  opined  that  the  round 
trip  would  occupy  half  an  hour  and  cost  her 
not  over  ten  or  twenty  cents. 

So  she  climbed  aboard.  The  conductor 
repeated  his  list  of  suburban  towns,  yanked 


32  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

briskly  at  the  bell  cord,  and  the  car  slid, 
bumping  and  teetering,  out  of  the  zone  of 
pale  lights,  and  took  its  twisting  way  into 
ruraldom. 

Mary  Alice  smelled  the  odors  of  meadow 
and  grove  as  the  car  sped.  She  closed  her 
eyes,  opened  them,  closed  them  again.  The 
car  passed  a  tiny  station,  where  it  stopped 
and  let  off  a  dozen  tired-looking  country 
folk,  evidently  glad  to  be  at  the  end  of  a  day 
in  the  city.  Mary  Alice  was  infinitely  soothed. 
She  kept  closing  her  eyes,  opening  them 
blissfully,  and  closing  them  again.  The  car 
rocked  and  hummed;  the  breezes  blew  the 
child's  tangled  black  hair.  She  was  no  longer 
in  pain.  She  forgot  to  open  her  eyes. 

The  calm,  sweet  stars  in  a  velvet  summer 
sky  saw  a  little  girl  get  off  a  suburban  street 
car  at  the  end  of  the  line. 

"No,"  said  the  conductor,  "we  don't 
make  no  return  trip  'til  mornin'.  We  leave 
her  stand  here  all  night." 

He  reached  up  and  turned  a  switch;  im- 
mediately the  car  was  in  darkness. 

"Where  you  goin',  kid?"  asked  the  man. 
"Did  you  think  we  'd  be  goin'  back?" 


A  MONARCH,  AND  OTHERS  33 

"I  — I  thought  so.  What '11  I  do?"  she 
asked  plaintively.  Her  bruised  body  ached. 
The  ride  out  from  the  city  had  been  refresh- 
ing, but  now  a  fear  of  the  great  silence  clutched 
her. 

"You  can't  stay  in  this  open  car  all  night," 
said  the  conductor.  "Hey!  Jim!  Here's  a 
little  girl  that  thought  we's  goin'  back  to- 
night. What  we  better  do  with  her?" 

"I  can't  take  her  to  my  house,"  doubted 
the  motorman.  "The  beds  is  all  full.  Whyn't 
you  try  Sam  Thomas?  Look,  they's  a  light 
in  his  house." 

"Come  along,  sister,"  said  the  conductor. 
He  spoke  very  kindly.  At  home  his  own 
little  girl  was  now  snugly  tucked  into  bed, 
and  he  would  steal  into  the  room  and  kiss 
her  before  he  turned  in  himself.  It  was  al- 
ways the  last  thing  to  do  at  night,  no  matter 
how  tired  he  felt.  "Come  along,  sister." 

Sam  Thomas,  in  his  stocking  feet  and  car- 
rying a  kerosene  lamp  in  his  hand,  opened  the 
door.  He  grunted  a  little  when  he  learned 
the  nature  of  the  petition. 

"But  you  know,  Sam,  me  and  Jim's  both 
full  up.  We  got  small  houses  and  big  fam'lies. 


34  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

If  'twa'n't  for  that  I'd  take  her  home  in  a 
minute  —  may  do  it  anyhow,  if  you  don't 
want  her." 

The  door  swung  wide.  Behind  Sam 
Thomas,  Mary  Alice  saw  a  pleasant  room, 
and  through  the  open  doorway  wafted  the 
"homey"  smell  that  always  denotes  the 
farmhouse.  In  her  overpowering  weariness 
and  pain,  the  little  girl  yearned  to  that 
hearth,  her  big  eyes  wide  with  longing. 

"Well,"  said  Sam  Thomas,  "you  don't 
think  I'm  goin'  to  turn  the  poor  young-one 
away,  do  you?  What's  your  name,  child? 
And  for  goodness'  sake,  what's  the  matter 
with  your  forehead?  Looks  like  someone 
had  hit  ye." 


CHAPTER  IV 

IN   A   FARMHOUSE   KITCHEN 

I  DO  not  know  that  the  sun  rises  any  earlier 
in  the  country  than  it  does  in  the  city,  but 
it  has  more  witnesses.  In  town  the  milk- 
man alone  can  vouch  for  its  rising,  but  he  is 
twenty-four  hours  late,  according  to  country 
reckoning,  since  the  goods  he  delivers  were 
drawn  from  the  cows  in  the  dim  tie-ups  on  the 
morning  before. 

Sam  Thomas  stepped  out  upon  the  big  flat 
rock  that  formed  his  back  doorstep  just  as 
the  sun  licked  its  first  broad  rays,  like  the 
tongue  of  a  cat,  over  the  saucer  rim  of  the 
world.  A  wistful  mooing  came  to  him  from 
the  barn.  The  furry-green  weeds  that  matted 
the  side  yard  were  all  daintily  rimed  with  a 
heavy  white  dew  in  which  Sam's  footprints 
would  appear,  dark  and  distinct,  as  if  in  snow. 

With  a  thumping  of  feet  and  beating  of 

35 


36  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

wings,  half  a  hundred  chickens  came  hurry- 
ing and  jostling  to  his  feet. 

"Gwan,"  said  Sam.  "Shoo!  Ma  '11  feed 
ye.  Shoo!" 

He  stumped  off  to  the  barn,  a  milk  pail 
rattling  cheerfully  in  each  hand.  Some  swal- 
lows issued,  swooping,  from  the  tiny  holes 
pierced  high  up  in  the  peak  of  the  barn 
gable.  They  swung,  circled,  and  dipped,  utter- 
ing small  cheeping  notes  of  morning  gossip. 

Off  across  the  fields  and  down  among  the 
twisty  trunks  of  the  orchard  weaved  and 
wavered  thin,  tenuous  wisps  of  a  fragile 
vapor,  curling  into  nothingness  in  the  sun's 
rays  like  filmy  handkerchiefs  in  the  hands  of 
a  magician.  The  morning  was  full  of  cool 
odors,  and  the  sky  as  blue  as  only  a  morning 
sky  can  be.  The  night  had  wrought  a  great, 
clean  silence,  upon  which,  now,  the  noises  of 
dawn  made  sharp,  unblending  strokes,  as  a 
pen  on  new  paper. 

Sam    Thomas    whistled    a   thin,    tuneless 
measure,  swung  open  the  little  door  in  the 
big  door  of  the  barn,  and  pushed  his  pails 
ahead  of  him  into  that  fragrant  gloom. 
L    Mrs.  Thomas,  in  the  farmhouse  kitchen, 


IN  A  FARMHOUSE  KITCHEN  37 

washed  her  breakfast  dishes  with  the  deft 
handling  of  inbred  efficiency.  An  oil  lamp 
burned  on  the  shelf  above  the  sink,  for  Mrs. 
Thomas  had  arisen  before  daylight  to  make 
hot  biscuit.  Now,  as  the  slant  rays  of  the 
sun  crept  in  and  turned  the  lamp  flame  to  a 
sickly  yellow,  she  blew  it  out.  Another  day 
had  begun. 

The  only  rival  in  cleanliness  to  a  New 
England  country  kitchen  is  the  deck  of  a  ship. 
The  farmer's  wife  has  no  holystone,  but  her 
floor  is  bleached  to  an  albino  whiteness  by 
successive  applications  of  soap.  Her  milk 
pans  and  all  her  impedimenta  shine  like  new 
coin;  her  range  sparkles  like  a  freshly  polished 
shoe.  Martha  Thomas's  kitchen  was  so. 
She  worked  from  four  in  the  morning  until 
eight  at  night  to  keep  it  and  the  rest  of  the 
house  just  that  way. 

The  everlasting,  ever-renewing  business  of 
cleaning  went  on  with  scarcely  any  interrup- 
tion. Martha  was  always  cleaning  some- 
thing; she  scrubbed,  scoured,  rubbed,  bur- 
nished, and  polished  by  intuition,  by  incli- 
nation, and  by  habit.  And  she  did  not  find  it 
drudgery.  She  was  plump,  pink,  and  pleas- 


38  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

ant.  In  her  manner  lay  a  decision,  a  firmness, 
which  in  a  less  personable  woman  one  might 
have  called  by  a  harsher  name. 

She  poured  scalding  water  over  her  dishes, 
dried  them,  set  them  away,  washed  and 
wrung  out  towels,  and  neatly  hung  the  same 
on  a  fan-shaped  rack  over  the  range.  She 
brushed  and  dusted  and  tidied,  rattled  the 
stove  covers,  put  fresh  birch  wood  on  the 
fire,  pumped  a  tea-kettleful  of  water  and  set 
it  to  heat.  All  the  time,  just  as  her  husband 
whistled  his  tuneless  measure  while  he  did  his 
chores,  Martha  hummed  a  soft  half-portion 
of  song,  a  song  which  kept  repeating  itself 
endlessly  without  words  or  definable  notes. 

From  somewhere  within  the  house  came  a 
call. 

"Mum-mee-ee-ee!"  The  last  note,  long 
sustained,  high  pitched,  was  as  honeyed  as 
a  bird's  call.  "Mum-mee-ee!" 

Martha  stopped  in  the  midst  of  her  tasks. 
Every  morning  the  same  thing  happened; 
every  morning  came  the  little  clutch  at  her 
heart,  the  little  tender,  recurrent  pain  of  real- 
ization. She  answered,  as  always:  "All  right, 
sweetheart;  mother's  coming." 


IN  A  FARMHOUSE  KITCHEN  39 

She  set  her  broom  in  the  corner  and 
passed  swiftly  through  the  sitting  room  into 
a  chamber.  The  morning  sun  filled  the 
chamber  with  a  golden  radiance,  and  this 
radiance  was  reflected  and  seemed  to  be  en- 
hanced when  it  touched  the  shining  yellow 
head  of  a  child  nestled  in  the  pillows. 

"The  sun  come  and  waked  me  up,  mum- 
mee,"  said  the  child.  "Is  it  time  to  get  up?" 

"If  you  want  to,  dearie.  How'd  mother's 
boy  sleep?" 

"Oo,  grand !  I  don't  rummember  anythin' 
but  just  one  little  teeny  dream.  Gee,  it  was 
a  funny  little  dream." 

"Tell  mother,"  said  Martha.  She  busied 
herself  with  a  basin  and  cloths  and  towels. 
As  she  bathed  him,  the  child  went  on: 

"Well,  I  can't  just  rummember  everythin'; 
only,  the'  was  a  little  girl  in  it  —  but  she 
was  n't  my  sister.  Gee,  mummee,  I  wish'd 
I  had  a  sister." 

Martha  smiled.  "Was  she  a  nice  little 
girl?" 

"I  —  I  don't  know.  She  was  just  a  little 
girl;  only,  somehow,  I  was  tur'ble  sorry  for 
her.  She  come  and  stood  and  looked  at  me, 


40  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

and  her  clothes  was  all  raggety,  and  she  was 
cryin'.  And  I  says:  'Hullo,  what's  your 
name?'  and  she  did  n't  answer,  only  she  come 
and  kissed  my  for'ead,  and  I  waked  up,  and 
where  she  kissed  me  the  sun  was  shinin* 
warm  as  anythin'." 

Martha  stopped  short  in  her  operations. 
"Land  sakes!"  she  said.  "I  forgot." 

"Forgot  what?"  demanded  the  little  boy 
sharply. 

"Nothing,  dear,"  said  his  mother;  and  he 
saw  that  she  was  tremulous.  Things  like 
that  were  always  happening  to  Martha,  and 
they  never  failed  to  startle  and  frighten  her. 
If  her  seven-year-old  boy  dreamed  things 
that  came  true,  there  might  be  some  expla- 
nation, a  reason  she  dared  not  contemplate,  a 
fragile  and  holy  secret  forbidden  under  pen- 
alty, even  to  her  mother  love. 

She  continued  to  bathe  and  dress  the  boy, 
for  he  was  quite  helpless  from  the  hips 
downward.  She  lifted  him  with  ease;  she  was 
a  strong  woman  and  the  small  frail  body  a 
feather's  weight.  In  the  kitchen  she  ar- 
ranged him  carefully  in  a  big  chair,  home- 
built  and  practical,  padded  and  propped  to 


IN  A  FARMHOUSE  KITCHEN  41 

save  every  possible  strain,  where  he  could 
choose  to  watch  her  about  her  household 
duties  or  contemplate  the  uneventful  activ- 
ities of  the  farmyard. 

Sitting  there  in  the  window,  little  Charlie 
Thomas  reminded  you  of  an  indolent  angel. 
His  shiny  curls  clustered  and  tangled  about 
the  soft  oval  of  his  face  and  blended  with  the 
translucent  pallor  of  his  cheeks.  His  eyes, 
big,  blue,  and  questioning,  sparkled  with  a 
sort  of  eager  and  searching  intelligence  that 
sought  everything,  absorbed  everything,  com- 
prehended everything.  From  his  window, 
away  off  miles  and  miles  beyond  the  fields 
and  their  bordering  woods,  he  could  see  the 
mountains;  and  often  he  would  study  them, 
rising  blue  and  mysterious,  as  if  he  were  pen- 
etrating their  wooded  gulches  or  exploring 
their  rugged  sides.  Sometimes  Martha,  see- 
ing him  thus  intent,  would  speak  quickly  of 
horses  or  windmills  or  new  crullers,  anything 
to  bring  him  back  to  her  side.  She  could 
not  bear  to  see  him  thus  afield,  even  in 
thought. 

"What  do  you  want  for  breakfast,  boy?" 
she  asked. 


42  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

"A  egg,"  said  Charlie  promptly.  "Did  n't 
my  Clucky  lay  me  one?" 

"  We  11  ask  the  Boss,"  said  Martha.  "Here 
he  comes." 

Sam,  carrying  the  foamy  milk  pails,  thrust 
open  the  door.  "Hullo,  there,"  he  cried, 
"how 's  the  old  man  this  mornin'?" 

"Did  Clucky  lay  a  egg?"  demanded 
Charlie. 

"Betcher  life  she  laid  an  egg,"  answered  his 
father.  "Two  of  'em." 

"Aw,  pops!  They  don't  lay  but  one  to  a 
time;  what  you  givin'  us?" 

"Found  two  in  her  nest,  just  the  same. 
How  you  'count  for  that,  Mr.  Man,  eh? 
Looky  here." 

He  extended  a  hand  in  which  Charlie  saw 
two  large  brown  eggs  with  that  unmistakable 
pinky  bloom  that  marks  them  only  when 
just  laid. 

"Gee!"  said  Charlie.  "Some  other  hen 
got  in  Clucky 's  nest." 

"You  better  eat  'em  both,  to  be  on  the 
safe  side,"  suggested  Martha. 

Sam  looked  at  his  wife  and  jerked  a  thumb 
toward  the  ceiling.  "How 's  the  — " 


IN  A  FARMHOUSE  KITCHEN  43 

Martha  checked  him  with  a  gesture  and  a 
sidewise  look  toward  Charlie,  which  said  as 
plainly  as  words,  "I  haven't  told  him  yet." 
She  set  the  water  on  the  stove  to  boil  for 
Charlie's  eggs,  then  went  into  the  sitting 
room,  from  which  her  voice  presently  issued. 

"Sam,  come  and  see  if  you  can  start  this 
window-ketch  for  me." 

Sam,  hastily  drying  his  hands  at  the  sink, 
clumped  off,  and  the  muffled  sound  of  an  im- 
parted confidence  wafted  out  to  Charlie. 

"Mum-mee,"  he  called.  "Mum-mee.  You 
have  n't  fed  the  chickens  yet." 

Mary  Alice  Brown  dreamed  a  dream.  She 
thought  she  lay  in  a  big  clean  bed  in  a  room 
with  sloping  walls.  The  sun  came  tumbling 
in  at  the  open  window,  along  with  a  draft  of 
sweet  cool  air  whose  freshness  was  altogether 
novel.  Outside  this  window  she  saw,  drow- 
sily, the  green  and  rustling  leaves  of  trees; 
and  curious  twitterings,  cheepings,  and  trills, 
which  she  took  to  be  the  calls  and  songs  of 
birds,  assailed  her  ear.  She  missed  the  rattle 
of  wheels  upon  stone,  the  shouts  of  boys  in 
the  street,  the  clatter  of  feet  upon  stairs. 


44  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

Voices  there  were,  but  strange  voices,  very 
far  off. 

This  pleasant  dream  lasted  a  matter  of 
seconds'  before  Mary  Alice  stirred  in  the  bed ; 
whereupon  the  soreness  of  her  body  reminded 
her  that  she  must  wake  up  and  be  about  her 
business  of  assistant  laundress,  nurse  girl, 
and  housekeeper.  But  the  dream  persisted. 

It  was  difficult  for  Mary  Alice  to  piece  two 
and  two  together  in  explanation  of  her  as- 
tonishing position.  The  pains  in  her  limbs 
when  she  tried  to  move  about  in  the  bed 
helped  her,  and  all  the  details  came  gradually 
back. 

She  sat  up  and  hung  her  thin  legs  over  the 
side  of  the  bed.  On  a  chair  nearby  she  saw 
her  clothes.  In  contrast  with  the  clean  cham- 
ber, their  dirtiness  and  raggedness  were 
pathetic  and  shameful.  Mary  Alice  plucked 
at  her  own  person  and  found  herself  gripping 
a  pinch  of  white  cotton  nightgown,  something 
less  than  a  mile  too  big  for  her,  but  terrify- 
ingly  clean.  She  knew  she  must  resume 
her  clothes,  and  loathed  the  idea. 

The  least  effort  hurt  her  bitterly,  but  she 
hobbled  across  the  room  and  somehow  got 


IN  A  FARMHOUSE  KITCHEN  45 

into  her  own  things.  She  worked  with  extreme 
caution  of  noise;  she  did  not  know  just  why. 
When  she  was  dressed,  she  stood  still  and 
wondered  what  to  do  next.  The  idea  of 
facing  Sam  Thomas  appalled  her.  She  re- 
membered the  kindliness  in  Mrs.  Thomas's 
motherly  face  when  she  had  tucked  her  into 
bed  last  night;  yet,  somehow,  she  wondered 
if  these  people  had  not  changed  during  the 
night,  if  they  would  not  look  scornfully  upon 
her  untidy  little  person  and  put  her  out  with 
reproaches. 

Mary  Alice  at  last  mustered  courage  to 
seek  the  stairs,  to  tiptoe  down;  and  when 
she  found  herself  in  the  sitting  room,  she 
peered  fearfully  across  at  the  open  kitchen 
door.  Then  she  advanced,  not  venturing  to 
speak. 

She  saw  a  little  boy  with  amazing  yellow 
hair  sitting  propped  and  padded  and  pil- 
lowed in  a  big  chair.  She  saw  a  man  and  a 
woman  attending  upon  the  child  with  in- 
finite love  and  tenderness  in  their  faces.  It 
was  all  right  and  regular  for  a  mother  to  love 
her  baby;  but  Mary  Alice  had  almost  for- 
gotten that  there  was  such  a  thing  as  fatherly 


46  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

fondness.  In  the  Devil's  Truck  Patch  men 
quarreled  violently  with  their  wives  and  as- 
saulted their  children  with  any  convenient 
weapons.  At  the  mission  Sunday  school 
Mary  Alice  had  been  told  a  great  deal  about 
fatherly  affection,  but  in  real  life  exemplifica- 
tion had  been  negligible.  "Like  as  a  father 
pitieth  his  children"  seemed  to  her  a  kind 
of  sarcasm. 

Little  Charlie  Thomas  suddenly  looked 
around  and  saw  the  intruder.  His  eyes  wid- 
ened in  surprise  and  question. 

"Oo,  look!"  he  cried.  "Look  at  the  little 
girl  —  she 's  the  one  I  dreamed  about ;  honest, 
she  is." 

Sam  and  Martha  turned  and  oddly  enough, 
thought  Mary  Alice,  greeted  her  very  pleas- 
antly. 

"Hullo,  kid,"  said  Sam.    "Sleep  good?" 

"You  poor  young-one!"  Martha  said. 
"Come  here  and  let  me  wash  your  face.  I 
bet  you're  hungry." 

Mary  Alice  was  not  conscious  of  hunger. 
Now  she  submitted  dumbly  to  the  ablu- 
tionary  processes  of  the  cleanly  Martha.  All 
the  while  she  kept  her  eyes  fixed  upon  the 


IN  A  FARMHOUSE  KITCHEN  47 

little  shiny-haired  boy  in  the  big  chair  by  the 
window. 

"What's  your  name?"  demanded  Charlie. 
"Please  come  here  and  talk  to  me." 

Mary  Alice  went  slowly  up  to  the  child's 
side. 

"Le*  's  shake  hands,"  he  said.  "I  dreamed 
about  you.  What 's  your  name?" 

"Mary  Alice  Brown." 

"  Where  'd  you  come  from?  I  —  I  like  you, 
Mary  Alice." 

"She  come  from  Sheffield,  Charlie-boy,"  put 
in  Martha.  "Wash  Moore,  the  trolley  con- 
ductor, brought  her  here .  She  got  lost  or  some- 
thing. She  slept  upstairs  all  night.  What 
do  you  s'pose  made  you  dream  about  her?" 

"I  don't  know.  I  just  wanted  someone  to 
come  and  see  me,  some  little  boy  or  girl.  Will 
you  stay  here  f'rever,  Mary  Alice?" 

"My  mother  wouldn't  let  me,"  said  the 
little  girl.  "I  got  to  go  home  right  now." 

"Mr.  Thomas  is  going  to  town  with  a  load 
of  things,"  said  Martha.  "How'd  you  like 
to  ride  in  on  the  wagon  with  him?  Anyhow, 
you're  going  to  eat,  soon's  these  eggs  get 
boiled.  Do  you  like  'em  soft  or  hard?" 


48  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

"Mary  Alice,"  Charlie  shrilled,  "please 
don't  go  'way.  I  want  you  to  stay  and  play 
with  me.  Can  you  read?" 

"Sure  I  can  read.    I  been  to  school." 

"Can  you  read  stories?  Can  you  read 
books  —  whole  books?  " 

"Some  books,  if  the  words  ain't  too  big." 

Charlie  looked  from  his  father  to  his 
mother,  as  if  in  them  lay  the  decision,  quite 
without  reference  to  Mary  Alice's  necessities. 

"Can't  she  stay?  I  like  her  so  much,  and 
she  can  read  me  stories." 

There  was  nothing  teasing  or  whining  in 
Charlie's  eagerness,  just  a  cheerful,  hopeful 
insistence. 

"Could  you — "  began  Martha. 

"I  have  to  help  my  mother,"  said  the  girl. 
"She's  probably  terrible  worried  about  me. 
We  got  a  baby,  too,  and  he 's  kind  of  sick.  I 
could  go  home  on  the  trolley,  the  same  way  I 
come.  I  got  money." 

"Well,  you  might's  well  eat  some  break- 
fast. The  next  car  don't  go  for  an  hour." 

Mary  Alice  went  and  sat  by  Charlie.  He 
asked  her  a  hundred  questions,  told  her  a 
hundred  little  things  about  his  own  life.  Mary 


IN  A  FARMHOUSE  KITCHEN  49 

Alice  was  as  frank  as  she  felt  she  could  be. 
But  she  hated  to  admit  the  facts  that  were 
all  too  plainly  revealed  by  her  dress  and  con- 
dition. Instinctively  she  knew  the  hurt  she 
must  give  the  boy  if  she  told  him  too  much 
truth  about  herself.  Shrewd  Martha  Thomas 
saw  it  all  as  through  a  magnifying  lens. 

"Dear  Lord,"  she  thought  helplessly,  "how 
can  such  things  be  right?  Why  do  little  chil- 
dren have  to  suffer  and  pay?  Why  don't 
grown-up  folks  settle  their  own  accounts. 
Poor  innocent  babies,  poor  innocent  babies!" 

From  this  one  may  see  that  somehow  or 
other  Martha  Thomas  was  classing  her 
Charlie  with  Mary  Alice  of  the  Sheffield  slum. 
What  was  the  common  debt  thus  vicariously 
charged  against  her  boy  and  the  forlorn  little 
girl? 

Sam,  coming  in  from  the  barn,  announced 
that  he  must  postpone  his  wagon  trip  for 
another  day. 

"But,"  he  said,  "I'll  just  change  my 
clothes  and  take  her,"  indicating  the  visitor, 
"home  on  the  trolley.  I'm  goin'  to  find  out 
somethin'  about  that  kid.  She  ain't  very 
talkative;  but  I'm  darned  good  and  sure,  if 


50  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

she'd  tell  us  all  we'd  like  to  know,  it  would  n't 
sound  like  no  funny  story.  That  young-one 's 
had  some  hard  treatment." 

"I'm  glad  you're  going,"  agreed  his  wife. 
"Why,  do  you  know,  her  little  body's  just 
covered  with  bruises.  Somebody 's  been  abus- 
ing her  dreadfully.  It 's  a  shame.  She 's  a 
real  nice  child,  only  she 's  been  kicked  or 
whipped  or  something  —  you  find  out  all  you 
can,  dear.  Maybe  we  can  do  something.  And 
while  you're  in  town,  go  to  Stacey's  and  buy 
me  some  number  sixty  white  spool  cotton 
and  four  yards  of  blue  drilling  and  a  bottle  of 
furniture  pol — " 

"Hold  on,  now,  hold  on,  ma,"  said  Sam. 
"Get  a  pencil  and  make  me  a  menoranda.  I 
can't  rickollect  all  them  things." 

"My  father's  the  grandest  feller,"  Charlie 
was  telling  Mary  Alice.  "I  guess  I 'm  a  awful 
lucky  little  boy.  He  made  me  this  chair 
hisself.  Look  at  them  holes?  There 's  where 
the  pegs  go  that  hold  my  table  on.  The  table 's 
for  me  to  eat  on  and  play  games.  Can  you 
play  checkers,  Mary  Alice?  I  bet  I  could  beat 
you.  I  got  a  lot  of  soldiers  and  a  cannin,  too, 
and  a  in-the-house  baseball  game,  with  a 


IN  A  FARMHOUSE  KITCHEN  51 

spinnin'  thing.  You  can  get  a  home  run  with 
it.  Did  you  ever  see  a  reg'lar  baseball  game? 
Some  day  when  I  grow  up  and  my  legs  gets 
well  I'm  goin'  to  play  baseball.  I'm  goin' 
to  be  a  big  leg  pitcher.  God 's  goin'  to  make 
me  well,  mummee  says.  I  'm  gettin'  better  all 
the  time.  Feel." 

He  flexed  a  tiny  arm,  seeking  approval  for 
an  imagined  biceps. 

"  That 's  pretty  good,  for  a  boy  seven  years 
old.  My  father  says  he  never  see  nothin'  like 
it.  He  says  if  I  keep  on  I  '11  be  a  reg'lar  Her- 
culuss.  Ever  read  about  Herculuss?  He  was 
the  strongest  man  that  ever  lived,  and  when- 
ever anybody  had  a  big  job  that  took  a  tur- 
rible  strong  feller  to  do  it,  they  always  sent 
for  Herculuss.  I  guess  he  was  'most  as  strong 
as  God.  Do  you  live  all  the  time  in  the  city?  " 

"  'Most  all  the  time.  I  been  in  the  country 
with  the  mission  picnic  sometimes." 

"You'd  ought  to  live  in  the  country,  like 
me.  It 's  awful  healthy.  I  'm  as  healthy  as 
anythin',  just  'cause  I  live  in  the  country. 
My  father  says  God  intends  for  people  to  stay 
in  the  country  much  as  possible;  he  says  the 
city 's  full  of  fall-pits." 


52  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

"What?" 

"Pits,  that  people  falls  into.  Did  you  ever 
fall  into  one?" 

1 '  I  never  saw  one, ' '  said  Mary  Alice.  ' '  They 
can't  be  near  where  I  live." 

"  'S  funny,"  mused  Charlie.  "  My  father  'd 
oughter  know.  He  knows  everythin'." 

"Maybe  he  means  the  sewers.  They  got 
manholes,  but  they  have  covers;  so  nobody 
ever  falls  into  'em." 

"Maybe,"  assented  the  child.  "But  the 
Boss  calls  'em  fall-pits.  You  be  careful, 
won't  you,  Mary  Alice?  I  want  you  to  come 
back  and  see  me.  I  like  you.  Not  hardly 
any  childun  comes  to  play  with  me.  My 
mother  she's  so  busy;  but  sometimes  she 
stops  and  reads  me  a  story.  If  you  was  here 
you  could  read  me  stories  all  the  time.  Read 
me  one  now,  Mary  Alice,  before  you  go." 

Mary  Alice  read  with  a  certain  rapid 
contempt  for  all  literary  hurdles  in  the  shape 
of  polysyllables  that  made  her  delivery  a 
thing  of  great  charm.  Both  Sam  and  Martha, 
reading  to  Charlie,  hesitated  and  stumbled  at 
every  big  word.  The  result  was  halting  and 
jerky.  Charlie  never  complained;  but  the 


IN  A  FARMHOUSE  KITCHEN  53 

smoothness  of  Mary  Alice's  reading  pleased 
and  soothed  him.  She  plowed  along  at  great 
speed,  tossing  clouds  of  syllables  to  right  and 
left  like  a  rotary  going  through  a  snowdrift. 
She  got  there.  This  reckless  dismemberment 
of  the  unintelligibles  had  scarcely  any  ob- 
scuring effect  on  the  main  thread  of  the  story. 
Charlie  listened  almost  breathlessly,  and  his 
blue  eyes  shone  through  a  mist  of  ecstacy. 
Into  the  translucent  pallor  of  his  face  crept  a 
faint  pink.  He  radiated  joy.  One  slim  hand 
crept  out  and  took  the  almost  equally  slim 
but  far  more  competent  hand  of  his  new 
friend. 

"With  a  low  cadence  of  bliss,"  read  Mary 
Alice,  "Lady  Isabel  allowed  her  soldier  lover 
to  fold  her  close  to  his  palpating  breast, 
while  Sir  Egbert  Glendenning,  thus  forever 
defeated  in  his  villainous  macherations,  slunk, 
a  beaten  man,  from  the  presence  of  his  in- 
tended victums." 

"Gee!"  breathed  Charlie,  "that's  a  peach 
of  a  story.  Oo,  Mary  Alice,  don't  g'  'way. 
You  read  lovely." 

For  a  long  time  Charlie  looked  off  down 
the  road  where  his  father  and  Mary  Alice 


54  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

had  gone.  Faintly  he  heard  the  diminishing 
rattle  of  the  trolley  car.  Then  he  lay  back, 
a  little  tired,  his  great  blue  eyes  fixed  on  the 
far-away  line  of  hills. 

"Poor  child,"  thought  Martha,  driving  a 
flock  of  imaginary  dirt  demons  into  a  corner 
and  ruthlessly  throttling  them  with  a  soapy 
brush,  "he's  awful  lonesome.  I'd  almost 
liked  to  had  that  young-one  stay  here.  But, 
mercy  sakes,  was  n't  she  dirty!" 

But  to  Charlie,  brought  up  in  the  constantly 
renovated  atmosphere  of  a  spotless  home, 
witnessing  the  daily  assaults  upon  the  kingdom 
of  soot  and  smudge,  Mary  Alice's  soiled  dress 
had  no  repellent  significance.  Had  he  dis- 
liked Mary  Alice,  you  could  not  have  washed 
her  clean  enough  to  suit  him.  With  a  child's 
tolerance  Charlie  accepted  Mary  Alice  in  the 
democracy  of  the  spirit,  than  which  there  is 
no  other  democracy. 

Now,  as  he  gazed  off  across  the  fields  and 
woods  at  the  distant  hills,  a  couple  of  large 
tears  made  little  sticky-feeling  paths  down 
his  cheeks. 


CHAPTER  V 

AN  OLD  ACQUAINTANCE 

MARY  ALICE'S  recollection  of  a  day  of  pros- 
perity was  so  vague  that,  for  a  long  time,  it 
had  been  quite  inactive.  The  events  of  the 
last  few  hours  had  stirred  it  ever  so  little. 

She  had  had  a  good  night's  sleep  in  a  clean 
cool  bed;  had  breathed  a  quantity  of  air  from 
the  original  package;  had  been  fed  liberally 
and  wholesomely;  had  seen  and  been  in  a 
home  that  was  a  home. 

Better  than  all  that,  she  had  made  the 
acquaintance  of  Charlie  Thomas,  who  looked 
like  an  indolent  angel  and  was  only  a  crippled, 
crumpled  little  boy.  Mary  Alice  had  sup- 
posed that  she  was  the  most  unlucky  child  in 
the  world.  She  could  not  think  of  Charlie, 
anchored  immovably  to  one  spot  by  his  in- 
firmity, and  wish  to  change  places  with  him. 
He  was  more  unfortunate  than  she;  yet  he 
spoke  very  agreeably  and  confidently  of  God, 

55 


56  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

as  if  God  were  a  sort  of  friend,  like  the  doctor 
or  his  father,  Sam  Thomas. 

You  can't  plant  bitterness  in  the  heart  of  a 
child  and  expect  it  to  thrive  except  through 
a  combination  of  very  unlikely  circumstances. 
You  must  poison  the  soil  with  endless  cruel- 
ties and  disappointments  and  see  that  it  is 
watered  with  floods  of  tears.  You  must 
harrow  and  irritate  the  garden  of  the  childish 
mind  with  plowings  of  scorn  and  hate  and 
humiliation  and  keep  up  the  process  for  years 
upon  years.  By  and  by  you  may  see  a  feeble, 
small  sprout  of  resentment  and  rancor,  which 
may  become  a  stocky  plant  by  the  time  the 
child  has  grown  up.  It  is  this  kind  of  culti- 
vation that  gives  Satan  more  trouble  than 
anything  else;  it  takes  so  much  patience.  He 
can  do  it  in  adult  soil  with  less  effort. 

But  just  as  the  sprout  is  nicely  started  in 
the  infant  garden,  along  comes  a  ray  of  the 
sunshine  of  love  and  kindness;  poof!  away 
goes  your  miserable  little  seedling,  like  a 
candle  flame  snuffed  out  in  a  big  wind.  Then 
the  work  has  all  to  be  done  over.  It  is  a  tough 
job. 

In  the  soil  of  Mary  Alice's  soul  the  acrid, 


AN  OLD  ACQUAINTANCE  57 

noisome  shoot  had  withered.  In  its  place, 
over  night,  a  fairer  vegetation  had  germinated. 
With  the  least  attention" in  the  world,  this  new 
plant  would  flourish  and  blossom  radiantly. 

Charlie  Thomas  had  warmed  this  germ  into 
life  with  a  shake  of  his  sunny  head,  a  smile, 
and  three  spoken  words:  "I  like  you." 
Charlie  did  not  know  it  yet ;  he  actually  pitied 
Mary  Alice,  and  Charlie's  mother  still  thought 
her  a  glum  little  thing  and  unapproachably 
dirty.  Mary  Alice  thought  she  would  gladly 
sit  forever  and  read  about  the  loves  of  un- 
fortunate duchesses  and  the  villainies  of  the 
alleged  nobility  of  England,  not  because  the 
stories  fascinated  her,  but  in  order  that  she 
might  watch  Charlie's  eager,  questioning  blue 
eyes. 

Now,  sitting  beside  Sam  Thomas  on  the 
city-bound  trolley  car,  Mary  Alice  was  all 
mixed  up  in  her  mind  between  the  desire  to 
see  and  comfort  her  mother,  who  would  be 
frantic  with  anxiety,  and  the  wish  to  go  back 
to  the  quiet  farm,  where  the  chickens  pecked 
busily  about  the  side  door  and  a  crippled  boy 
with  a  billion  dollars'  worth  of  gold  curls  sat 
and  looked  at  the  hills.  Her  faint  recollec- 


58  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

tion  of  a  day  of  prosperity  included  a  cottage 
and  some  grass.  Nothing  in  it  reminded  her 
of  scant  feeding,  whippings,  and  ever-present 
fear.  She  could  not  manage  to  make  any 
connection  between  it  and  her  father,  the 
besotted  Lem  Brown  of  to-day. 

Lem  Brown  had  been  there,  but  he  had  not 
been  besotted;  or,  more  accurately,  he  was 
just  beginning  to  become  so.  Mary  Alice 
did  not  remember  the  day  they  moved  away 
from  the  cottage  with  green  grass.  Her 
mother  had  told  her  that  they  might  have 
been  there  to-day  if  her  father  had  let  liquor 
alone.  Mrs.  Brown  was  not  sufficiently 
schooled  in  the  psychology  of  alcoholism  to 
speak  more  accurately  and  say  "if  liquor  had 
let  Lem  alone." 

The  sweet  morning  breeze  that  stirred  her 
black  hair  as  the  trolley  car  waltzed  dizzily 
along,  the  friendly  presence  of  Sam,  Charlie's 
father,  broke  through  Mary  Alice's  reserve. 
Martha  had  helped  her  straighten  out  her 
hair,  just  before  she  left  the  farm,  and  had 
tied  a  piece  of  ribbon  on  it.  This  gave  Mary 
Alice  a  faintly  stirring  consciousness  of  her 
own  appearance;  there  is  no  tonic  like  it. 


AN  OLD  ACQUAINTANCE  59 

Sam  Thomas  did  not  ask  direct,  leading 
questions,  as  did  Martha  and  Charlie.  He 
ventured  the  opinion  that  Mary  Alice's 
father  would  have  gone  to  work  by  the  time 
she  reached  home.  Mary  Alice  said  that  her 
father  did  n't  work.  Sam  did  not  immedi- 
ately cry  "Oh"  and  seem  shocked,  so  Mary 
Alice  overlooked  her  negligence  in  having 
let  slip  something  she  had  kept  a  secret 
from  Charlie. 

"Then  he  '11  be  real  scared  about  you, 
won't  he,  with  nothin'  else  to  think  of?" 

"I  guess  not  very,"  replied  the  little  girl. 
"But  mother  '11  be  most  crazy." 

"  Where  'd  you  tell  'em  you  was  goin'  when 
you  left  home?" 

"Ma  and  the  baby  was  asleep;  they  did  n't 
know  it.  I  was  only  goin'  as  far  as  the  park. 
Then  I  got  on  the  car  for  a  little  ride,  and  the 
car  did  n't  come  back." 

"Was  n't  your  pa  at  home?" 

"Him?    No!" 

Those  two  words  told  Sam  Thomas  a  pro- 
logue, forty  chapters,  and  an  appendix,  con- 
cerning the  life  history  of  Mary  Alice  Brown 
and  her  family. 


60  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

"Now  listen,  little  girl,"  he  said.  "It's 
eight  o'clock.  The  stores  are  openin'  up. 
Your  mother 's  prob'ly  been  up  two  or  three 
hours,  but  she  ain't  had  time  to  get  real 
alarmed  about  you  yet.  You  could  stay 
away  all  the  forenoon  without  scarin'  her 
much.  I  got  them  arrands  to  do  for  Marthy; 
you  can  come  with  me.  It  '11  take  a  few  min- 
utes, and  then  we'll  go  to  your  house." 

"Oh,  no,  I  couldn't.  I  got  to  go  right 
home  now." 

"Listen,"  said  Sam,  bending  confidentially 
close.  "I  want  you  to  help  me  pick  out  a 
present  to  take  back  to  Charlie." 

"Oh,  no,"  repeated  Mary  Alice,  "I 
could  n't.  I  got  to  go  right  —  " 

This  was  as  far  as  she  got ;  the  prospect  was 
too  alluring. 

By  nine  o'clock  Mrs.  Brown  had  begun  to 
be  genuinely  alarmed  about  her  daughter, 
whom  she  had  missed  upon  waking  at  five. 
There  were  plenty  of  places  where  she  might 
have  gone,  for  numerous  purposes;  but  there 
was  no  conceivable  reason  why  she  should  stay 
so  long.  Mrs.  Brown  thrust  her  head  from  the 
window  and  peered  anxiously  down  the  narrow 


AN  OLD  ACQUAINTANCE  61 

alley.  Once  she  left  the  baby  alone  while  she 
trotted  to  the  corner  of  Calvert  Street  and  back. 

There  was  nothing  to  eat  in  the  house  or  a 
penny  of  money.  All  the  morning  Mrs. 
Brown  had  labored  with  the  soiled  pieces  in 
Mrs.  Travers's  washing,  and  these  were  now 
finished.  When  Mary  Alice  came  in,  she 
would  trundle  the  load  up  Clipper  Hill  again, 
collect  one  dollar  and  seventy-five  cents,  and 
the  Brown  family  would  eat.  Now  the  baby 
wailed  dolefully  for  his  milk.  Over  the  wash- 
tubs  Mrs.  Brown  had  long  since  dried  up  the 
natural  sources  for  his  need. 

On  the  stairs  came  a  thumping  and  pound- 
ing of  feet,  heralding  the  approach  of  at  least 
two  persons.  Mrs.  Brown  straightened  up 
and  listened,  nervously  wiping  her  hands  on 
her  damp  apron. 

Mary  Alice  came  in,  followed  closely  by  a 
large  ruddy  man  who  did  n't  bother  to  take 
off  his  hat.  Mary  Alice's  face  was  shining 
with  a  new  light,  her  black  eyes  sparkled,  and 
her  black  hair  looked  blacker  than  ever  be- 
cause of  the  bow  of  red  ribbon  Mrs.  Thomas 
had  tied  on  it.  The  little  girl's  arms  were  full 
of  bundles. 


62  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

Mrs.  Brown  stared  at  her  daughter,  then 
at  the  big  escort.  He  too  carried  bundles. 
He  wore  a  straw  hat  of  a  forgotten  vintage, 
with  a  wide  brim.  The  hat  appeared  several 
sizes  too  large  and  completely  hid  his  ears. 
His  clothes  were  faded,  if  still  whole ;  he  wore 
a  celluloid  collar  and  a  black  necktie  that 
did  n't  need  to  be  tied,  but  was  put  on  with  a 
string  and  fastened  with  some  sort  of  tongue 
and  a  concealed  pin. 

The  moment  Sam  Thomas  entered  Mrs. 
Brown's  sudsy  kitchen  the  woman  knew  he 
was  from  the  country,  for  he  possessed  a 
pungent  and  bucolic  aura  compounded  of 
many  things.  The  barn,  the  dairy,  and  the 
field  had  all  contributed  to  it.  Dainty  peo- 
ple turn  up  their  noses  at  that  kind  of  odor; 
maybe  it  is  agreeable  only  by  suggestion. 

To  Mrs.  Brown  it  brought  back  apple  blos- 
soms and  roses  and  morning  glories ;  it  brought 
back  a  brook  running  through  a  hollow  pas- 
ture, clumps  of  trees,  new-cut  hay,  stone 
fences,  and  bushes  hung  with  ripe  raspberries ; 
it  brought  back  the  end  of  the  lane,  where  the 
cows  waited  at  night  to  be  let  into  the  tie-up ; 
it  brought  back  big  shiny  pans  of  unskimmed 


AN  OLD  ACQUAINTANCE  63 

yellow  milk,  smoky  rafters  hung  with  braided- 
together  ears  of  popcorn,  rag  rugs,  chickens 
that  you  had  to  shoo  out  of  the  kitchen,  the 
bleating  of  sheep  on  a  hummocky  hillside.  It 
brought  back  the  tears  she  had  forgotten  how 
to  shed. 

All  this  was  as  instantaneous  as  the  breath 
of  odor-laden  air  that  wafted  across  her  face. 
She  looked  up  into  Sam  Thomas's  eyes  and 
saw  that  they  were  very  friendly.  She  saw 
something  else,  but  she  was  not  quite  sure 
of  it ;  something  that  stirred  her  to  the  depths 
of  her  soul.  It  just  could  n't  be. 

"Here  I  am,  ma,"  said  Mary  Alice.  "Was 
you  scared?" 

"I  was  most  scared  to  pieces,  child.  Good 
land,  where 've  you  been?" 

"My  name's  Thomas,  Sam  Thomas,"  said 
the  bucolic  stranger.  "I  s'pose  you're  Mrs. 
Brown.  This  little  girl  come  to  my  house 
last  night,  and  we  kept  her  'til  mornin'.  I  'd 
brought  her  back  sooner,  but  what  with 
chores  and  errands  and  — :  " 

He  stopped  and  looked  hard  at  the  woman. 
Then  he  blinked  in  a  puzzled  way  and  asked: 
"Say,  am  I  mistakened  or  are  you  Lottie 
Dillingham,  that  married  Lem  Brown?" 


64  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

"That's  just  who  I  am,"  said  Mrs.  Brown. 
"I  recognized  you  the  minute  you  opened 
that  door,  Sam." 

"Gosh!"  said  Sam.  He  held  out  a  large 
hand,  about  as  soft  and  yielding  as  a  molded 
brick.  "This  is  a  surprise,  ain't  it!" 

Mary  Alice  looked  in  bewilderment  from 
her  mother  to  her  new  friend  and  back  again. 
Something  besides  whippings  and  skipped 
meals  was  beginning  to  happen  in  her  life. 
This  was  all  because  of  that  supreme  chas- 
tisement of  the  night  before.  Because,  if  it 
had  not  occurred,  she  would  not  have  run 
away  or  got  on  a  car  that  would  n't  come 
back  to  town. 

"God's  goin'  to  make  me  well,"  little 
Charlie  had  said,  the  child  who,  with  his 
shrunken  legs  and  hopeless  anchorage  in  one 
spot,  was,  she  had  thought,  more  unlucky 
than  herself.  If  Charlie  could  regard  God  as 
a  friend,  in  spite  of  suffering  and  fetters,  it 
was  plain  that  Charlie  considered  that  God 
had  done  a  great  deal  for  him.  That  was 
why  he  expected  Him  with  faith  to  do  still 
more. 

Mary  Alice  began  to  think  Hhat  perhaps 


AN  OLD  ACQUAINTANCE  6£ 

God  had  not  forgotten  her.  There  might  be 
something  in  that  sparrow  story  after  all. 
Maybe  she  had  been  a  little  hasty  in  deciding 
about  God  and  His  interest  in  her  affairs.  He 
was  probably  very  busy  and  had  a  good  many 
things  on  His  mind.  Mary  Alice  felt  that 
she  could  afford  to  be  tolerant;  she  was  quite 
willing  to  meet  God  at  least  halfway. 

All  this  passed  very  hazily  through  the 
subcellar  of  Mary  Alice's  subconscious  mind, 
a  mind  so  very  remote  from  her  active  thought 
that  she  did  n't  even  know  it  was  there.  She 
was  listening  with  her  entire  equipment  of 
ears  to  the  conversation  between  her  mother 
and  Sam  Thomas;  and  she  was  helping  get 
the  breakfast.  The  baby  sucked  contentedly 
at  a  bottle  of  warm  milk.  Mrs.  Brown  said 
he  was  a  good  deal  better. 

Mrs.  Brown  was  not  a  reticent  woman; 
that  is, .  if  she  were,  all  her  instinct  of  self- 
repression  was  broken  down  by  this  unex- 
pected meeting  with  an  old  friend.  She  told 
Sam  Thomas  all  the  things  that  Mary  Alice 
had  been  at  pains  to  conceal.  It  was  not 
quite  edifying  to  hear  her  do  so.  Mary  Alice 
did  not  understand  the  awful  longing  to  tell 


66  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

one's  troubles  that  accumulates  through  years 
of  silent  suffering.  Mrs.  Brown  had  felt,  in 
the  early  days  when  Lem  began  to  go  to 
pieces  through  drink,  that  she  would  bite  out 
her  tongue  before  it  should  publish  her  dis- 
appointment and  humiliation.  This  secre- 
tiveness  had  persisted  through  the  days  of 
gathering  poverty  and  shame.  She  had  seen 
the  gradual  disintegration  of  a  soul;  perhaps, 
as  she  now  realized,  not  a  very  choice  soul, 
but  still  one  that  had  been  dear  to  her.  She 
remembered  the  first  time  that  drink,  through 
her  husband,  had  struck  her  an  actual,  phys- 
ical blow.  If  drink  could  do  that,  its  deprav- 
ity knew  no  bottom.  But  she  went  on  and 
on,  with  an  occasional  ray  of  false  hope, 
when  Lem  would  promise  abstinence.  It 
might  last  for  a  month  or  two,  only  to  be 
snuffed  out  by  a  fresh  lapse  from  sobriety. 
Finally  there  came  no  more  such  rays. 

When  a  woman  marries,  she  rivets  her  fate 
to  the  fate  of  her  husband.  Let  her  be  ever 
so  beautiful,  ever  so  strong,  ever  so  clever, 
the  wife  is  at  her  husband's  mercy.  He  does 
as  he  does,  and  though  she  struggle  to  her 
strength's  limit,  though  she  cry  aloud  to  the 


AN  OLD  ACQUAINTANCE  67 

stars  for  help,  sinking  he  drags  her  down  with 
him. 

Mrs.  Brown  had  had  a  home  and  a  baby 
girl,  as  much  hers  as  Lem's.  This  home  she 
had  helped  to  make  pretty  and  attractive. 
Mrs.  Brown  and  her  baby  did  not  drink,  of 
course.  Lem  lost  job  after  job  and  became 
destitute.  Nobody  would  keep  Lem  at  work 
just  because  his  wife  was  sober  and  industri- 
ous. Mrs.  Brown's  unexceptionable  habits 
did  not  prevent  the  "building  and  loan" 
from  foreclosing  the  mortgage.  She  and  her 
children  were  paying  a  debt  they  had  never 
incurred,  suffering  vengeance  where  no  ven- 
geance was  due. 

You  can  say  if  you  like  that  it  served  Lem 
Brown  right  to  lose  his  home ;  he  drank  it  up. 
But  you  can't  say  it  served  Mrs.  Brown  right 
to  lose  hers.  You  can  say  if  you  like  that  it 
served  Lem  right  to  be  sent  up,  in  the  cold- 
est time  of  year,  to  work  out  a  three  months' 
sentence  in  a  warm  jail  workshop,  where  the 
tasks  were,  after  all,  not  unbearably  hard  and 
there  were  blankets  at  night  and  regular 
nourishment.  But  you  can't  say  that  it 
served  Mrs.  Brown  right  to  bear  a  child  in 


68  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

an  unheated  room,  with  quite  inadequate 
attention  and  not  a  penny  at  hand  to  pay 
for  the  nakedest  necessaries  of  her  situation. 
Little  Dick  had  been  thus  born. 

Mary  Alice  Brown  trudged  off  with  the 
wagonload  of  laundry  for  Mrs.  Travers.  Some- 
thing had  happened  in  her  life.  The  rattle  of 
the  wagon  wheels  over  the  bricks  was  almost 
cheerful,  and  she  undertook  the  long  climb 
up  Clipper  Hill  with  courage.  At  home  Sam 
Thomas  and  her  mother  were  renewing  old 
times;  for  before  Mrs.  Brown  sent  her  on 
her  errand,  it  transpired  that  her  mother  and 
this  man  were  children  together  in  the  same 
country  village.  She  wished  she  could  stay 
and  hear  more.  If  there  is  one  thing  above 
all  others  fascinating  to  a  child,  it  is  listening 
to  elderly  discussion  of  the  past. 

What  was  to  come  of  it?  She  looked  down 
a  trifle  complacently  at  her  new  dress  of 
dark  blue  cloth  with  red  trimmings.  Sam 
had  bought  it  for  her,  and  the  saleslady  had 
assured  her  that  it  was  the  very  acme  of 
fashion  for  girls  of  her  age  or  a  little  older. 
Below  the  new  dress  a  stout  pair  of  shoes 
came  into  alternate  view.  They  were  still 


AN  OLD  ACQUAINTANCE  69 

stiff  and  hurt  villainously.  Mary  Alice  did  n't 
care.  She  hauled  the  heavy  wagon  up  Clipper 
Hill  and  gloried  in  her  aching  feet.  Halfway 
up  she  met  a  boy  with  red  hair. 

"Hello,  Mary  Alice  Brown,"  said  the  boy. 

All  the  joy  went  out  of  the  little  girl's 
heart.  This  was  the  boy  who  had  helped  her 
last  night,  the  boy  she  had  treated  so  cava- 
lierly, whose  bounty  she  had  spurned  and 
later  picked  up  from  the  gutter.  She  felt  as 
if  she  had  stolen  it. 

"Hello,  Mary  Alice  Brown,"  said  Francis 
Willett.  All  resentment  had  apparently  gone 
from  him.  He  seized  the  wagon  tongue. 

"Aren't  you  going  to  speak  to  me?"  he 
inquired.  "What  you  mad  at?" 

"I  ain't  mad,"  said  Mary  Alice.  Francis 
assumed  the  entire  labor  of  hauling  the 
wagon. 

"Pooh!"  he  said;  "you  don't  call  this 
heavy.  Why,  I  could  pull  five  times  as  much 
and  never  mind  it  a  bit.  I  'm  a  pretty  strong 
feller,  anyhow.  Did  you  see  how  I  fixed  those 
boys  last  night?  Gosh!  I  fixed  'em.  They 
won't  ever  do  that  again,  I  bet." 

Mary  Alice  said  nothing.    He  was  so  com- 


70  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

placent,  so  toweringly  egotistic.  She  tried 
vainly  to  pull  a  share  of  the  load. 

"Oh,  you  leggo,"  said  Francis.  "I  don't 
need  any  help.  Say,  how  often  do  you  come 
up  this  way?  I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do. 
Every  day  you  come  up  I'll  try  to  be  here 
and  help  you.  I  belong  to  the  Galahad 
Knights.  I  guess  I  told  you  about  'em.  We 
pledge  ourselfs  to  help  the  poor  and  op- 
pressed —  oh,  I  don't  mean  you.  You  prob- 
ably aren't  poor  at  all."  Francis  regarded 
this  as  readily  tactful.  "You  don't  look 
poor  —  that's  a  pretty  dress.  Us  Galahad 
Knights  have  got  to  assist  maidens  in  dis- 
tress. You  can  be  a  maiden  in  distress,  can't 
you?" 

"How  much,"  asked  Mary  Alice,  "does  it 
cost  to  belong  to  your  Galahad  Knights?" 

"Oh,  girls  can't  belong,"  said  Francis. 

"How  much  does  it  cost?"  persisted  Mary 
Alice. 

"Twenty-five  cents  a  year;  but  girls 
can't  —  " 

"Could  a  little  boy  that  lives  out  in  the 
country,  all  by  himself  with  his  father  and 
mother,  on  a  farm,  belong  to  it?  He's  a 


AN  OLD  ACQUAINTANCE  71 

cripple;  he  never  moves  out  of  his  chair  all 
day.  Could  he  belong?" 

"Sure,  if  he's  got  twenty-five  cents,  he 
could." 

Mary  Alice  fished  in  the  pocket  of  her  new 
dress.  She  had  forgotten,  in  the  flash  of  her 
big  idea,  that  she  was  beholden  to  this  very 
boy  for  the  coins  her  fingers  touched.  She 
could  only  see,  as  in  a  vision,  the  radiant 
face  of  Charlie  Thomas,  framed  in  its  inval- 
uable border  of  gold. 

"Here,"  said  Mary  Alice.  "His  name  is 
Charlie  Thomas,  and  he  lives  in  Hillside 
Falls." 

"I  can  remember,"  said  Francis,  pocketing 
the  quarter.  "I  been  there;  the  trolleys  go 
there.  Say,  some  day  us  fellows  can  all  go 
out  and  see  this  Charlie,  'specially  if  he's  a 
cripple.  Some  Saturday." 

The  thought  of  half  a  dozen  boys  taking 
the  trouble  to  go  to  call  on  little  Charlie 
Thomas  transported  Mary  Alice  into  a  rap- 
turous heaven  of  gratitude.  She  began  to 
like  Francis  Willett. 

"  I  '11  send  him  the  litterchure,"  said  Francis. 

"The  what?" 


72  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

"The  litterchure  —  the  d'rections  and 
things,  how  to  be  a  Galahad  Knight.  There 's 
a  book  of  rules,  and  a  pledge  with  a  blank  to 
sign  your  name  and  send  in  to  the  secertary. 
Then  there 's  another  little  book  that  tells  the 
story  of  Sir  Galahad  and  the  Holy  Grail. 
It's  great.  The  twenty-five  cents  pays  for  it 
all  and  a  year's  membership." 

They  came  to  the  Travers  house. 

"Is  this  where  you  were  going?"  asked 
Francis.  "Why,  that  feller  that  tipped  you 
over  last  night  was  Lutey  Travers.  Gee!  If 
his  mother  knew,  would  n't  he  ketch  it?" 

"Is  he  a  Galahad  Knight?" 

"No,  he  isn't.  Say,  what  say  we  tell 
Mrs.  Travers?  She'll  just  fix  him." 

"Is  Galahad  Knights  tattle-tales?"  asked 
Mary  Alice. 

Francis  Willett  met  her  level  gaze  for  a 
moment  and  suddenly  felt  his  face  go  red. 

"You  wouldn't  make  such  a  bad  knight 
yourself,  even  if  you  are  a  girl,"  he  said. 

Mary  Alice  returned  with  the  dollar  and 
seventy-five  cents,  to  find  her  mother  busied 
and  excited. 

"We're  goin'  away,"   she  said.     "We're 


AN  OLD  ACQUAINTANCE  73 

goin'  to  Hillside  Falls  for  two  weeks.  Sam  — 
Mr.  Thomas  has  invited  us,  the  baby  and 
you  and  me.  He's  gone  ahead  to  tell  his 
wife.  Goodness  knows  what  she'll  say  when 
she  sees  our  whole  family  come  pilin'  in  on 
her;  but  Mr.  Thomas  says  it'll  be  all  right. 
His  wife  is  Martha  Brushly.  I  knew  her 
when  I  was  a  girl.  Hurry,  dear;  get  your 
things  and  put  'em  in  the  valise.  The  car 
leaves  City  Park  Square  in  fifteen  minutes." 

"Who  '11  do  Mrs.  Travers's  wash?"  asked 
Mary  Alice. 

The  little  girl  did  not  know  that  to  her 
the  doing  of  Mrs.  Travers's  washing  was 
quite  a  secondary  matter.  In  the  deep  sub- 
cellar  of  that  subconscious  mind  of  which 
she  did  not  yet  realize  the  possession,  she 
was  thinking  of  the  long  climb  up  Clipper 
Hill  and  the  promise  of  the  Galahad  Knight 
to  be  there  regularly  to  help  her. 

"I'll  drop  her  a  line,"  said  Mrs.  Brown. 
"She  can  send  her  clothes  to  the  domestic 
for  a  couple  of  weeks." 

Mary  Alice  began  to  plan.  She  would  be 
at  the  farm  when  Charlie  got  his  litterchure, 
and  she  could  read  him  the  story  of  Sir  Gala- 


74  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

had,  whoever  he  might  be.  She  hoped  he 
would  not  be  anything  like  that  other  Eng- 
lish knight,  Sir  Egbert  Glendenning,  of  whose 
misdemeanors  she  had  read  that  morning. 
She  thought  of  the  awakening,  in  the  big 
clean  bed  in  the  room  with  the  sloping  walls. 
"Land  sakes!"  murmured  Mrs.  Brown. 
"The  child's  singin'.  I  haven't  heard  her 
sing  for  months." 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE   GALAHAD  KNIGHTS 

LEM  BROWN  went  to  jail.  On  the  day  fol- 
lowing Mary  Alice's  beating  he  decided  that 
what  he  had  no  money  to  buy  he  would  have 
by  theft.  The  details  of  his  offense  are  of 
no  importance.  The  term  of  his  imprison- 
ment was  fixed  at  three  months. 

Mrs.  Brown  wept  when  she  heard  the  news. 
It  was  always  so.  She  never  forgot  the  little 
cottage  and  green  grass  that  had  been  as 
much  hers  as  her  husband's;  she  never  forgot 
what  her  life  had  promised  to  be,  or  that  in 
the  beginning  she  had  loved  the  man  who 
had  nullified  and  broken  that  promise.  The 
quarter  year  of  respite  from  her  fear  of  bodily 
harm  to  her  children  or  herself  never  could 
quite  compensate  her  for  the  bitter  thought 
that,  however  innocently,  she  and  they 
shared  his  disgrace. 

75 


76  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

Martha  and  Sam  made  their  old  friend 
thoroughly  welcome. 

"It's  a  long  time  since  we  had  company," 
said  the  Boss.  "I  wish  you'd  look  at 
Charlie,  will  you?" 

The  crippled  child  beamed  with  delight 
from  dawn  until  bedtime.  Dick,  the  Brown 
baby,  took  his  first  few  steps  during  the  fort- 
night spent  on  the  farm.  Wistfully  Charlie 
watched  him  test  his  small  wobbly  legs,  totter, 
and  fall  laughing  in  the  soft  grass  under  the 
apple  trees,  and  clapped  his  thin  hands  to 
see  the  infant  manfully  repeat  the  attempt. 

"He's  learnin'  fast,"  Charlie  would  say. 
"  I  wonder  if  I  '11  tumble  around  like  that  when 
I  start  to  walk." 

He  never  let  go  of  the  faith  that  some  day 
he  would  be  well  and  strong  and  stand  up- 
right on  a  pair  of  good  sound  legs  like  other 
folks.  Sometimes  he  would  wake  in  the 
morning  all  radiant  with  hope. 

"I  dreamed  I  could  walk,"  he  would  say. 
"I  dreamed  I  was  chasing  a  butterfly.  Mary 
Alice  held  my  hand;  she  was  'fraid  I'd  fall, 
but  I  did  n't.  I  got  away  from  her  and  I 
catched  the  butterfly,  too." 


THE  GALAHAD  KNIGHTS  77 

Then  he  would  open  his  hand,  as  if  half- 
expecting  to  find  the  imprisoned  insect  in  his 
grasp. 

In  a  few  days  the  rural  delivery  brought  him 
a  fat  envelope.  Mary  Alice  had  told  no  one 
about  the  Galahad  Knights.  She  hovered 
with  the  rest  of  the  household  about  his  chair 
to  witness  his  breathless  pleasure  as  he  un- 
wound the  string  from  the  red  buttons  and 
spread  the  contents  on  the  table  Sam  had 
ingeniously  pegged  across  the  chair  arms. 
Into  his  face  crept  the  faint  pink  flush  of 
excitement. 

"Don't  he  look  handsome!"  whispered 
Martha,  pinching  Sam's  arm.  Then  she 
cried  softly,  and  Sam  mumbled  something 
about  putting  liniment  on  the  bay  horse's 
lame  shoulder  and  clumped  hastily  off  to  the 
barn. 

Mary  Alice  read  aloud  the  simplified  story 
of  Sir  Galahad's  adventures,  contained  in  a 
small  paper  book  among  the  other  "litter- 
chure."  When  she  had  finished,  Charlie  sat 
a  long  time  looking  off  at  the  blue  hills.  Then 
he  said: 

"Read   it   again,    Mary   Alice.     Ain't   it 


78  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

grand !  I  bet  that  feller  could  licked  old  Her- 
culuss.  And  it  says  here  'at  I  can  be  one  of 
them  Galahad  Knights.  All  I  got  to  do  is 
sign  my  name  on  this  little  paper.  Got  a 
pencil,  Mary  Alice?" 

Mary  Alice  felt  that  it  was  fitting  to  tell 
him  how  it  had  all  come  about.  She  related 
the  knightly  story  of  Francis  Willett  and  the 
adventure  of  the  upset  washing. 

"Gee!"  said  Charlie.  "I  bet  he's  a  fine 
feller,  that  Francis  Willutt.  When  do  you 
s'pose  him  and  the  other  knights  '11  come  out 
to  see  me?  Oh,  Mary  Alice,  you  was  a  awful 
good  girl  to  tell  him  about  me.  I  wish  'd  you 
could  be  a  knight,  too.  Why  don't  they  let 
girls  be  knights,  same  as  us  fellers?" 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Mary  Alice.  "I  wish 
they  would,  too." 

Sam,  standing  nearby,  chuckled.  "Votes 
for  women,"  he  said. 

"The  Boss  is  a  funny  feller,"  observed 
Charlie.  "What 's  he  mean  by  that? " 

Mary  Alice  did  n't  quite  know,  either. 

"You're  as  good  as  any  feller,"  asserted  the 
loyal  Charlie.  "Le"s  me  and  you  purtend 
you  're  a  knight  —  or  a  knightess.  I  'm 


THE  GALAHAD  KNIGHTS  79 

goin'  to  call  you  '  Sir  Knight  Mary  Alice '  — 
no,  that  don't  sound  very  good." 

"Call  her  'Lady  Mary  Alice,'  dearie," 
suggested  Martha. 

"It  was  swell,  the  way  Francis — -I  mean 
Sir  Francis  —  licked  the  boy  that  bothered 
you,"  said  Charlie.  He  clenched  his  small 
fist,  crying:  "You  just  wait,  Lady  Mary 
Alice.  Some  day  you'll  be  in  trouble,  and  I  '11 
come  ridin'  up  on  a  white  palfrey,  or  maybe 
a  motorcycle,  and  save  you.  You'll  see." 

On  pleasant  days,  and  most  of  the  days  were 
pleasant  just  then,  the  Boss  carried  Charlie, 
big  chair  and  all,  out  under  the  apple  trees. 
The  chickens  pecked  about,  scratching  and 
making  small,  contented,  throaty  sounds. 
Clucky,  Charlie's  especial  friend,  would  flop 
up  and  stand  on  the  arm  of  his  chair,  staring 
with  her  beady  eyes  into  his  face. 

"She 's  promisin'  me  a  egg,"  said  the  boy. 

The  biggest  day  of  the  Browns'  visit  at  the 
Thomas  farm  was  that  on  which  Francis 
Willett  and  three  other  valiant  knights  came 
to  see  the  new  member.  Francis's  father 
drove  them  out  from  Sheffield  in  his  car. 
Martha  made  ice  cream.  The  boys  —  Sir 


80  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

Toots  Stacey,  Sir  Whacker  Hodge,  and  Sir 
Mobey  Baldwin  —  gave  the  new  member 
the  right  hand  of  fellowship  with  embarrassed 
gravity.  They  stood  about  awkwardly,  ad- 
justed their  neckties,  and  wondered  how  much 
hay  was  in  the  barn  or  where  the  cow  lane  led. 
At  command  of  Sir  Francis  Willett  they  per- 
formed feats  of  strength,  wrestled,  ran  races, 
and  boxed  fiercely  for  the  benefit  of  Sir  Charlie 
Thomas,  whose  blue  eyes  blazed  with  ec- 
stasy. He  was  one  of  them,  a  Sir  Knight, 
member  of  a  distinguished  company.  He 
became  almost  as  complacent  as  Francis. 
Once  more  the  lovely  faint  flush  came  in  his 
small  oval  face. 

When  it  was  over  and  Martha  had  carried 
him  off  to  bed,  she  was  afraid. 

" He 's  so  excited,"  she  said.  " I  guess  he'll 
be  a  long  time  goin'  to  sleep.  I  hope  he  don't 
take  any  harm  from  it." 

Sam  Thomas  was  very  solemn  at  bedtime. 
He  sat  moodily,  examining  his  stockinged 
toes,  which  he  curled  thoughtfully.  When  he 
looked  up,  Martha  saw  that  there  were  deep, 
haggard  lines  in  his  face,  a  great  longing  in 
his  eyes. 


THE  GALAHAD  KNIGHTS  81 

"  My  God,  Marthy ! "  he  said.  "  He  thinks 
he 's  goin'  to  get  well  and  walk  and  race  and 
carry  on  as  they  did.  He  thinks  he'll  be 
like  them  big  strong  boys." 

The  Boss  bowed  his  head  in  his  great  rough 
hands;  the  strong  shoulders  shook  terribly. 

"And  it 's  all  my  doin',"  he  moaned.  "All 
my  doin'.  My  poor  little  feller,  my  poor  little 
boy!  Your  father  did  that  to  you." 

Martha,  taking  down  her  hair  by  the 
dresser,  turned  toward  Sam.  Just  for  a  flash- 
ing instant  there  glowed  in  her  eyes  a  small 
harsh  light  of  resentment,  of  blame.  She 
knew  that  what  the  Boss  said  was  true.  But 
she  went  and  dropped  on  the  bedside  and 
threw  an  arm  across  his  bent  neck. 

"Don't,  Sam  dear,  please  don't,"  she  said. 
"  I  can't  bear  it.  It  was  an  —  an  accident. 
Don't  blame  yourself;  it 's  past  and  done 
and  it  can't  be  helped.  I  never  blamed  you, 
did  I?" 

"Not  a  word,  Marthy,  never  a  whisper.  I 
always  wonder  how  you '  ve  kept  from  hatin' 
me." 

"Hush,  dear,"  said  Martha.  "You're 
makin'  it  up  to  him  every  day  you  live." 


82  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

"Makin'  it  up!  If  I  only  could,  'twould 
give  him  back  his  legs.  That 's  the  only  way, 
and  Lord  knows  it 's  forever  too  late,  too 
late." 

He  finished  undressing,  fixed  the  windows, 
and  went  dully  to  bed,  where  he  lay  far  into 
the  night  without  sleeping. 

On  the  way  back  to  town  Mr.  Willett  made 
inquiry. 

"Who  did  you  say  that  black-eyed  little 
girl  was,  Francis?" 

"That 's  Mary  Alice  Brown." 

"She 's  a  quiet  little  thing  and  quite  pretty. 
She 's  your  Young  Lady  of  the  Wash  Wagon, 
eh?" 

"Yes,  father." 

"I  suppose  her  people  are  pretty  poor.  Do 
you  think  we  could  help  them  any?  That 
seems  to  be  the  object  of  this  Galahad  busi- 
ness." 

Francis  laughed. 

"I  tried  to  give  her  half  a  dollar  once;  she 
got  awful  mad.  I  guess  she 's  proud." 

"She  has  brains,"  said  Willett  pere. 
"  She 's  spunky.  Who  's  her  father?  " 

"She  never  told  me." 


THE  GALAHAD  KNIGHTS  83 

"H'm!  Mother  takes  in  washing;  little 
girl  delivers  the  goods.  Looks  bad.  Find  out 
all  you  can  about  them,  boy,  and  let  me  know. 
I  like  that  little  girl.  Pity  she  does  n't  belong 
to  Thomas.  He 's  a  thrifty  chap,  seems  pros- 
perous. How  he  worships  that  child  of  his! 
Charlie's  lucky  to  have  a  good  father  like 
that." 

"Any  boy 's  lucky  to  have  a  good  father," 
said  Francis.  He  slipped  a  hand  into  that  of 
Mr.  Willett. 

"Find  out  where  your  mother  buys  her 
eggs  and  butter,"  said  his  father. 


CHAPTER  VII 

A  MATTER  OF  GRAVITY 

"MARY  ALICE,  you're  gettin'  fat,"  said 
Charlie  Thomas.  "  What  'd  I  tell  you  'bout 
the  country?  If  you'd  stay  here  long  enough, 
you  'd  get  as  healthy  as  me;  would  n't  she, 
Boss?" 

"She  would  if  lots  of  fresh  milk  and  good  air 
is  worth  anything,"  replied  Sam.  "Still, 
she 's  got  to  get  pretty  husky  'fore  she 's  any- 
thing like  you,  old  feller." 

The  children  had  just  come  out  into  the 
orchard,  and  the  young  morning  sun  filtered 
down  through  the  trees,  dappling  the  still 
dewy  ground  with  dancing  patterns  of  gold. 
One  sensed  the  hint  of  autumn.  It  was  in 
the  slant  of  sunbeams,  in  the  odors  of  matur- 
ing vegetation,  of  ripening  fruit.  Some  crys- 
talline quality  of  the  air  seemed  to  sharpen 
the  sight,  for  everything  visible  took  on  dis- 

84 


A  MATTER  OF  GRAVITY  85 

tinctness  of  outline,  and  colors  had  a  con- 
trasty  vividness. 

"This  is  just  about  the  bestest  day  I  ever 
saw,"  began  Charlie;  then  "Ooch!" 

"  What 's  the  matter,  Charlie?  "  asked  Mary 
Alice. 

"I  guess  I'm  not  Sir  Charlie,"  said  the 
little  boy,  rubbing  the  top  of  his  head  rue- 
fully. "I  guess  I'm  Sir  Isaac." 

Mary  Alice  looked  puzzled,  and  Charlie 
burst  out  laughing. 

"Didn't  you  never  hear  about  that?"  he 
cried.  "Why,  Sir  Isaac  Newton  — " 

"Was  he  a  Galahad  Knight?"  asked  Mary 
Alice. 

"I  don't  know.  You  mean  'cause  he  was  a 
'sir'?  I  don't  think  he  lived  quite  that  long 
ago;  but  anyway,  he  was  awful  smart.  He 
discovered  the  law  of  gravity." 

"The  law  of  what?" 

"  Of  gravity.  Don't  you  know  what  the  law 
of  gravity  is?  The  Boss  says  it's  'The 
higher  they  go,  the  harder  they  fall.'  But 
he  laughs  when  he  says  that,  so  I  guess  he 's 
sort  of  makin'  fun  of  me.  Mother  read  it  to 
me  out  of  a  book." 


86  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

"But  you  said,"  began  Mary  Alice,  "you 
said  this  Mr.  Newton  - 

"  Well,  I  '11  tell  you,"  Charlie  went  on,  his 
eyes  twinkling;  "a  apple  fell  on  my  head. 
Did  n't  you  see  it?  That  was  what  I  hol- 
lered '  ooch'  for.  Well,  that  made  me  think  of 
Sir  Isaac  Newton.  He  was  an  English  feller. 
One  day  when  he  was  sittin'  under  a  tree  a 
apple  fell,  plunk,  right  on  his  head;  so  he 
discovered  the  law  of  gravity." 

"I  don't  think  that  was  very  smart,"  said 
Mary  Alice  stubbornly.  "I  don't  think  that 
was  any  smarter  than  you.  Anybody  'most 
can  have  an  apple  hit  'em  on  the  head." 

"That  is  n't  the  point,  Mary  Alice,"  argued 
the  little  boy.  "My  mother  says  the'  was 
prob'ly  hundreds  of  people  that  apples  fell 
on,  or  somethin'  -  -  yes,  thousands  and  thou- 
sands. But  nobody  had  sense  enough  to  see 
what  it  meant." 

"I  guess  it  meant  they  had  a  lump  on  'em; 
but  say,  Charlie-boy,  I  guess  I  understand 
you.  The  other  day  I  heard  somebody  say 
a  certain  person  '  would  n't  tumble  if  a  safe 
fell  on  'em.'" 

It  was  now  Charlie's  turn  to  look  puzzled. 


A  MATTER  OF  GRAVITY  87 

"  I  sh'd  think  anybody  would,  though  — 
unless  maybe  it  was  old  Herculuss." 

"Well,"  said  Mary  Alice,  laughing,  "that 
means  'understand.'  It  means  it  takes  an 
awful  lot  to  make  some  folks  see  a  thing." 

"That's  it,  that's  it,"  cried  Charlie  de- 
lightedly; "that's  it  exactly.  A  little  apple 
fallin'  out  of  a  tree  made  Sir  Isaac  Newton 
see  that  there  was  a  reason,  and  the  reason 
was  gravity.  I  got  a  nature  book  that 
splains  all  about  it.  Gravity  is  what  makes 
things  fall  to  the  earth,  and  the  center  of 
gravity  is  the  middle  of  the  earth." 

Mary  Alice  was  twelve  and  Charlie  Thomas 
seven,  but  the  girl  marveled  at  so  much  erudi- 
tion. 

"  My  goodness,  Charlie,  you  know  an  awful 
lot  for  a  little  boy,"  she  said.  "That 's  some- 
thin'  I  never  heard  about." 

"Oh,  well,"  said  the  little  boy,  "I  guess  I 
don't  know  's  much  as  you  think.  I  know 
what  my  mummee  tells  me  and  what  you 
read  me  out  of  books.  I  can't  read  nearly  so 
good  as  you,  Mary  Alice.  It 's  just  wonderful 
how  you  read  all  them  big  words  as  careless, 
like  they  was  n't  any  harder  'n  '  cat '  and 
'dog.'" 


88  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

"But  I  'm  lots  older  than  you." 

"I've  had  some  'vantages,  though,"  said 
Charlie.  "  I  get  heaps  of  time  to  think.  When 
the  other  boys  and  girls  are  runnin'  around, 
hollerin'  and  playin',  I  'm  thinkin'." 

"Well,  it's  lucky  you  don't  have  to  have 
somethin'  fall  on  your  head  to  start  you 
thinkin',  like  that  Newton  feller,"  said  Mary 
Alice,  judicially.  ' '  The'  was  a  boy  in  my  school 
last  year  that  had  a  dollar  watch,  a  second- 
hand one.  Every  once  in  a  while  it  would 
stop.  He  'd  wind  it  and  wind  it,  and  it 
would  n't  run  'til  he  shook  it  real  hard  or 
thumped  it  against  his  leg.  Then  it  would  go 
pretty  good.  He  said  it  never  lost  more'n 
an  hour  a  day.  Do  you  s'pose  Mr.  Newton's 
brains  worked  that  way?" 

Charlie  laughed,  but  looked  puzzled.  He 
knew  just  what  he  wanted  to  say,  but  he 
didn't  know  how  to  say  it. 

"You're  the  funniest  girl,"  he  said.  "I 
wish  I  could  splain.  Well,  it 's  this  way.  All 
the  thoughts  most  of  us  think  is  old  ones 
that  other  people  have  thought  before.  My 
father  says  so.  He  says  the'  was  n't  no  trolley 
cars  a  hundred  years  ago.  Now  would  n't 


A  MATTER  OF  GRAVITY  89 

that  be  dreadful  —  just  think,  if  the'  was  n't 
any  cars  you  would  n't  ever  have  come  to 
see  me,  or  your  mother  or  little  Dicky,  and 
I  would  n't  been  a  Galahad  Knight  —  Well, 
the  man  that  thought  of  the  trolley  car,  he 
thought  of  somethin'  nobody  else  had  ever  — " 

"I  wonder  what  hit  him  in  the  head," 
grinned  Mary  Alice. 

"I  know,"  said  Charlie,  without  a  smile. 

"What? "     Mary  Alice  was  off  her  guard. 

"An  idea!" 

Both  children  shrilled  with  laughter. 

"You're  the  greatest  boy  I  ever  saw," 
said  Mary  Alice.  "Say,  can  you  tell  me 
something  else?  If  this  Sir  Isaac  Newton 
invented  gravity,  that  makes  things  fall 
down,  what  made  the  apple  fall  before  grav- 
ity was  invented?" 

"Oh,  Mary  Alice,  he  did  n't  invent  gravity; 
he  discovered  it.  He  just  found  out  why  it 
was  that  things  had  always  been  fallin'  and 
always  would,  whenever  they  got  a  chance. 
He  did  n't  invent  anything.  God  invented 
gravity." 

"Oh,"  said  Mary  Alice.  Of  course  she  had 
been  more  than  half  in  fun  when  she  ques- 


90  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

tioned  Charlie.  She  loved  to  watch  his  ear- 
nest face,  to  note  its  sparkling  animation  when 
he  talked.  She  hesitated  to  prolong  the  pres- 
ent discussion,  however.  Her  idea  of  God 
was  not  particularly  vivid,  certainly  not 
intimate.  He  undoubtedly  did  invent  the 
law  of  gravitation,  along  with  a  great  many 
other  forces  and  processes  which  she  under- 
stood no  better.  It  was  this  larger  work 
which  she  had  supposed  occupied  His  entire 
time,  to  the  exclusion  of  such  small  matters 
as  little  girls  whose  fathers  beat  them  or 
little  boys  with  useless  legs.  Only  lately 
had  she  begun  to  suspect  that  He  really  paid 
any  attention  to  these  lesser  details. 

"That 's  what  makes  me  know  my  legs  are 
goin'  to  get  well,"  said  the  little  boy.  "Any- 
body that  can  do  the  things  God  does  can 
fix  up  one  little  pair  of  legs;  don't  you  think 
so?" 

"I  —  I  don't  see  why  not,"  was  about  as 
far  as  Mary  Alice  cared  to  commit  herself; 
and  yet,  somehow,  she  felt  a  curious,  awaken- 
ing thrill.  She  had  heard  at  the  mission  Sun- 
day school  some  assurance  concerning  the  faith 
that  could  remove  mountains.  It  did  not 


A  MATTER  OF  GRAVITY  91 

come  home  to  her,  for  the  simple  reason  that 
she  had  no  such  engineering  problem  con- 
fronting her.  A  faith  that  would  remove 
black-and-blue  spots  would  have  appealed  to 
her  as  more  practical. 

She  looked  at  the  little  cripple  and  loved 
him,  and  decided  that,  with  his  affliction,  he 
had  something  which  people  with  all  their 
arms  and  legs  usually  did  not  have;  and  it 
occurred  to  her  that  many  of  them  might  well 
exchange  arms  and  legs  for  it. 

Mary  Alice  did  not  know  it,  but  she  was 
realizing  that  the  thing  which  Charlie  had 
that  lots  of  people  had  not  was  consciousness 
of  soul  ownership.  "What  shall  it  profit  a 
man  if  he  gain  the  whole  world  and  lose  his 
own  soul?"  How  does  one  lose  a  soul?  By 
not  finding  that  one  has  it. 

Charlie  Thomas  expounded  a  high  philos- 
ophy when  he  told  the  story  of  Sir  Isaac 
Newton.  And  he  did  not  quite  "sense"  the 
parallel  in  his  own  case,  wherein  his  own 
affliction  had  played  the  part  of  the  apple, 
although  he  said  it  did  give  him  lots  of  time 
to  "think." 

Mary  Alice  Brown  was  always  getting  into 


92  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

these  interesting  discussions  with  Charlie, 
and  in  the  few  days  of  her  acquaintance  with 
him  she  was  changing  her  outlook  upon  life. 
She  had  helped  make  the  little  boy  a  Galahad 
Knight ;  that  is,  she  had  helped  him  crystallize 
some  of  his  blessed  ideals  into  something 
tangible  —  or,  let  us  say,  she  had  given  him 
a  handle  to  grasp  them  by.  And  straightway 
this  knight  had  extended  to  her  the  strong 
right  hand  of  his  knightly  profession. 

She  wondered  vaguely  just  how  this  was 
happening.  Then  she  saw  that  it  happened 
to  everybody  who  knew  Charlie.  It  was  some- 
thing more  than  merely  "cheering  up."  In 
Charlie's  life  affairs  were  always  going  to  be 
better  than  they  were  because  God  intended 
it.  The  world  is  said  to  be  growing  better 
all  the  time;  but  it  wouldn't  be  unless  a 
great  many  people  believed  it.  There  ap- 
peared to  be  very  little  of  the  "oh,  well,  it 
might  be  ever  so  much  worse"  in  Charlie's 
philosophy,  but  rather  the  serene,  undoubting 
confidence  in  Good.  He  was  always  looking 
ahead,  with  his  bright  eyes  fixed  on  the 
mountains  of  Faith  and  Hope,  just  as  he 
would  sit  and  gaze  off  across  country  at  the 


A  MATTER  OF  GRAVITY  93 

blue  hills  and  say  to  himself:  "Some  day 
I'm  goin'  to  climb  up  there." 

Francis  Willett  came  out  again,  this  time 
by  himself.  He  arrived  quite  early  in  the 
morning  and  announced  his  intention  of 
staying  all  day.  The  chauffeur  set  down  a 
great  basket  of  fruit  by  the  side  door  before 
backing  his  car  to  the  road. 

"I'll  go  home  about  five,"  said  Francis. 
"  I  can  come  on  the  trolley  if  mother  wants  to 
use  the  car." 

"All  right,"  the  man  agreed.  "If  I'm  not 
here  pretty  near  five,  you'll  know  I'm  not 
coming."  He  disappeared  toward  Sheffield 
in  a  big  dust  cloud. 

"Hullo,  Sir  Charlie,"  greeted  Francis. 
"Here's  some  fruit  for  you.  Hullo,  Mary 
Alice.  Oh,  'scuse  me  —  Lady  Mary  Alice,  I 
meant." 

"Francis,"  said  Mary  Alice,  "what's 
gravity?" 

"Gravity?    Oh,  gravity.    Well,  gravity  is 

-  is  —  gravity  is  —  anything  that 's  solemn 

or  —  or  cross.     F'r  instance,  when  I  don't 

know  my  geog'aphy  lesson,  the  teacher  looks 

at  me  with  gravity." 


94  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

He  smiled  complacently,  as  one  who  should 
say:  "You  see?  You  can't  stick  me." 

Mary  Alice  turned  to  Charlie. 

"It  is  n't,  is  it,  Charlie?"  she  said. 

"But,  Francis,  the  book  said,"  rejoined 
Charlie,  "that  Sir  Isaac  Newton  discovered 
it,  and  it  was  what  made  things  fall." 

"Well,"  Francis  said  smiling,  "when  she 
looks  at  me  that  way,  my  spirits  fall.  How 's 
that?" 

"No,  that  is  n't  it,"  Charlie  declared. 

"I  don't  seem  to  know  anything  about  this 
Sir  Isaac  chap,"  said  Francis.  "What  did 
he  say  gravity  was?" 

"He  said  it  was  what  makes  things  fall  - 
what  makes  'em  heavy." 

"Well,  I  guess  we  can  straighten  that  out, 
then,  Charlie.  The  other  day  in  a  book  I  was 
reading  it  said  the  hero  frowned  heavily. 
Now  if  anybody  frowned  heavily  —  my 
teacher  did  —  they  'd  be  looking  with  gravity, 
would  n't  they  —  that  is,  if  gravity  makes 
things  heavy." 

"  Somebody  must  'a*  dropped  a  whole  peck 
of  apples  on  your  head,  Francis  Willett," 
cried  the  little  boy.  "My  land,  but  you  do 
think  just  grand." 


A  MATTER  OF  GRAVITY  95 

The  children  passed  most  of  the  forenoon 
in  the  orchard,  talking  of  this  and  that, 
viewing  the  increasingly  successful  efforts  of 
little  Dick  Brown  to  walk,  discussing  the 
honors  and  duties  of  a  Galahad  Knight. 
Francis  showed  his  companions  some  mar- 
velous feats  of  strength  and  agility,  using  a 
tree  limb  for  a  trapeze.  In  the  midst  of  one 
of  these  demonstrations  the  limb  broke  and 
Francis  landed  on  his  shoulders  in  the  dirt, 
with  a  thump  that  jarred  him  all  over. 

"Gosh!"  he  cried,  hopping  about  and 
holding  his  jaw  with  both  hands. 

"Goodness,  Francis,"  the  children  in- 
quired anxiously,  "are  you  hurt,  are  you 
killed  or  anything?" 

"Bi'  m'  hung,"  he  said. 

"You  what?" 

"Bi'  m'  hung,  bi'  m'  hung!"  He  contin- 
ued to  hop  about,  groaning  dolefully. 

Mary  Alice  looked  at  Charlie,  whose  face 
was  alive  with  sympathy  and  distress.  Then 
she  went  to  Francis  and  put  her  hands  on  his 
arm. 

"  Poor  old  Francis,"  she  said;  "  I  'm  so  sorry. 
What  was  it  you  said?  " 


96  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

"I  hay  I  bi'  my  hung,"  mumbled  the  in- 
jured acrobat.  He  spat  out  a  drop  or  two  of 
blood. 

"Oh,  I  know,"  said  Charlie.  "He  bit  his 
tongue." 

"A'  righ',  I  bi'  mf  hung." 

In  another  minute  Francis  regained  the 
power  of  coherent  speech. 

"It  hurt  terrible,  I  tell  you.  Didn't  you 
ever  bite  your  tongue?  It 's  awful." 

"I  sh'd  thought  you'd  broke  your  neck," 
said  Mary  Alice.  "I  was  scared;  my  heart 
went  right  into  my  throat." 

"Pooh,  that's  nothing!"  Francis  waved  a 
deprecating  hand  toward  the  tree.  "That 
was  n't  high ;  I  could  fall  ten  times  as  far  as 
that  and  never  hurt  me:  only  I  bit  my  tongue, 
that's  all." 

"What  do  you  s'pose  made  that  old  limb 
break,  I'd  like  to  know?"  asked  Mary 
Alice. 

"I  know,"  cried  Charlie. 

"What?"  Francis  asked.  "It  wasn't 
my  — " 

"Gravity,"  said  Charlie,  grinning. 

"Ho,"    jeered     Francis    good-humoredly, 


A  MATTER  OF  GRAVITY  97 

"think  you're  smart,  don't  you?  Guess  we 
better  call  you  Sir  Isaac  after  this,  hey?" 

After  dinner,  when  Charlie  took  his  nap, 
Mary  Alice  and  Francis  wandered  away  from 
the  house,  along  the  cow  lane,  and  through 
the  pasture  lot,  until  they  came  to  the  old 
mill  road  leading  to  the  pond.  Here  stood  an 
ancient,  long-idle  grist-mill.  The  log  dam, 
its  sloping  upstream  side  thickly  lined  with 
mud  and  sawdust,  held  back  the  waters  of  a 
tiny  pond,  surfaced  with  the  broad  disks  of 
lily  pads.  The  water  tinkled  lazily  through 
the  leaky  sluice  gate,  and  the  old  mill  seemed 
to  sleep  placidly  among  the  alders. 

"This  is  awful  pretty,  don't  you  think  so?" 
asked  Mary  Alice,  as  they  stood  at  the  end  of 
the  dam. 

"You  bet  it's  pretty.  Say,  let's  fish  for 
shiners.  Got  a  pin?" 

The  boy  produced  a  piece  of  string,  cut  a 
slim  pole  from  a  clump  of  yellow  birches, 
caught  a  tiny  grasshopper,  and  became  at 
once  a  sportsman.  The  shiners  were  curious, 
but  elusive. 

"Look  out,  Francis,  you'll  fall  in,"  called 
Mary  Alice;  for  her  companion  was  creeping 
out  along  the  dam. 


98  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

"This  isn't  dangerous.  Come  on.  I'll 
let  you  fish.  The  shiners  are  bigger  out  here 
—  gracious,  Mary  Alice,  here 's  a  tremendous 
big  —  something.  I  bet  it 's  a  trout.  Come 
on  out." 

But  Mary  Alice  was  timid.  She  stood  on 
the  bank  and  watched  Francis  interestedly. 
What  a  nice  boy,  she  thought.  He  could  do 
'most  anything;  he  was  n't  afraid.  The  old 
rotting  planks  along  the  top  of  the  dam  might 
crumble  under  foot  and  send  him  into  the 
pond,  but  he  went  boldly  on.  It  was  fine  to 
be  so  brave. 

Francis  reached  the  far  end  of  the  dam, 
where  the  mill  was  built.  The  dam  abutted 
upon  a  great  square  box  of  planking  —  the 
flume.  At  the  bottom  of  the  flume  the  mill 
wheel  was  set.  To  start  the  mill,  the  miller 
released  the  wheel,  which  immediately  began 
to  spin  under  pressure  of  the  great  weight  of 
water  in  the  flume.  Of  course  it  had  n't  been 
done  for  years,  and  it  was  doubtful  if  rust  and 
the  debris  of  time  had  not  by  now  so  clogged 
the  mechanism  that  it  would  no  longer  work. 
The  water  in  the  flume  was  about  ten  feet 
deep. 


A  MATTER  OF  GRAVITY  99 

Francis  reached  the  flume,  whose  boxlike 
sides  stood  three  or  four  feet  higher  than  the 
dam.  The  boy  drew  himself  up  and  sat  com- 
fortably upon  a  loose  plank  which  lay  across 
the  flume. 

"Come  on  over  here,  Mary  Alice,"  he 
called.  "I  can  see  lots  of  fish.  Oh,  look,  I 
got  one — " 

He  jerked  suddenly  upon  his  pole,  and 
something  shiny  fluttered  in  the  air  at  the 
end  of  his  line.  But  the  rotten  plank  could  not 
support  so  much  excited,  wriggling  boy  and 
gave  way.  Mary  Alice  saw  Francis's  heels  go 
up,  and  then  he  disappeared  suddenly  into  the 
big  box. 

Mary  Alice's  heart  gave  a  jump.  She 
screamed,  but  that  did  no  good.  There  was 
nobody  to  hear  her.  She  could  not  run  and 
bring  help  before  Francis  could  drown.  And 
she  did  not  dare  to  go  out  on  the  treacherous 
old  dam.  One  foolish  word  kept  running 
through  her  head:  "Gravity,  gravity,  grav- 
ity." Gravity  had  played  Francis  two  tricks 
that  day. 

Suddenly  little  Charlie  Thomas's  lovely  oval 
face  and  big  brave  eyes  floated  into  Mary 


100  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

Alice's  mind.  "Anybody  that  does  the  things 
God  does  can  fix  up  a  little  pair  of  legs  — 

Mary  Alice  stepped  out  on  the  shaky  plank- 
ing and  began  the  passage  of  the  dam.  If 
she  could  get  over  to  the  flume,  she  could 
save  the  boy  struggling  in  the  water.  Any- 
body who  could  do  the  things  that  God  did 
could  help  her  to  avoid  the  holes  and  weaker 
places ;  she  thrilled  with  that  idea  and  was  no 
longer  afraid. 

Francis's  fishing  pole  had  fallen  upon  the 
dam,  alongside  the  flume  box.  Mary  Alice 
picked  it  up;  then  she  looked  down  into  the 
flume,  where  it  was  so  dark  that  her  eyes, 
adjusted  to  the  strong  sunlight,  at  first  re- 
fused to  serve  her.  But  she  heard  a  cough 
and  a  splash. 

"Here  I  am,  Francis,"  she  called.  She 
thrust  the  butt  end  of  the  fishing  pole  down 
into  the  gloom,  through  which  now  she  dimly 
discerned  a  white  face. 

Francis  was  a  weak  swimmer.  His  clothes 
and  heavy  shoes  hampered  him.  The  slippery 
sides  of  the  flume  box  offered  no  sustaining 
hold. 

"Grab  that,"  called  Mary  Alice.    Francis 


A  MATTER  OF  GRAVITY  101 

grasped  the  fishing  rod.  "Now  you  won't 
drown." 

"I  was  —  was  'most  ready  to  sink," 
choked  Francis.  "I  swallowed  a  lot  of  water. 
I  have  n't  any  breath  left ;  I  '11  be  all  right  in 
a  minute." 

He  clung  to  the  fishing  pole,  keeping  only 
his  head  above  water.  Thus  the  water  sus- 
tained most  of  his  weight. 

"I  could  hold  you  like  this  a  long  time," 
said  Mary  Alice;  "but  who's  goin'  to  pull 
you  out?  Besides,  you  '11  be  froze." 

Francis's  teeth  were  chattering  already. 

"If  I  could  get  hold  of  your  hand,  I  might 
pull  myself  up  the  side,"  he  said. 

Mary  Alice  leaned  far  over  and  extended 
her  right  hand  toward  the  boy,  sliding  it 
along  the  pole.  Francis  drew  himself  out  of 
water  and  reached  up  until  he  caught  her 
hand.  The  strain  of  his  weight  increased 
greatly  as  he  lost  the  lift  of  the  water. 

"Can  you  stand  it?"  he  asked. 

"Come  on,"  said  the  little  girl,  although  the 
edge  of  the  flume  was  already  cutting  cruelly, 
and  her  arm  felt  as  if  it  would  pull  out. 
1 '  Come  on. "  She  gritted  her  teeth.  Anybody 


102  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

who  could  do  the  things  God  did  could  help 
a  little  girl  keep  her  friend  from  drowning. 
"  Come  on,  get  your  —  get  your  other  —  other 
hand  up  —  there  — " 

Francis  had  now  hold  of  both  her  arms,  and 
the  fishing  pole  had  dropped  into  the  water. 
It  was  that  or  nothing.  As  the  boy  pulled 
himself  up,  Mary  Alice  managed  to  seize  his 
coat.  His  feet  kicked  and  slipped  upon  the 
smooth  flume  sides;  there  was  no  toe  hold,  no 
sufficient  crack  or  protruding  nail  —  yes,  a 
bolt  with  a  nut  on  it  caught  the  sole  of  Fran- 
cis's shoe.  This  was  about  a  foot  under 
water.  The  boy  put  forth  all  his  strength  and 
pulled  himself  up  until  he  could  get  a  hand  on 
the  top  edge  of  the  flume  wall.  Mary  Alice 
was  sure  her  arms  would  part  company  with 
her  shoulders.  Now,  relieved  of  that  strain, 
she  took  a  new  grip  on  his  wet  coat  and  tugged 
sturdily  as  he  drew  himself  up  until  he  could 
hook  his  elbows  over  the  edge.  Then  he 
threw  a  leg  across  the  top  plank,  and  she 
knew  she  had  saved  him. 

Both  children  were  tucked  away  in  bed  on 
their  return  to  the  farmhouse,  Francis  because 


A  MATTER  OF  GRAVITY  103 

his  clothes  had  to  be  dried,  and  Mary  Alice 
because  she  was  half -ill  from  fright  and  strain. 

"She's  the  bestest  Galahad  of  us  all  —  the 
best  in  the  world,"  cried  Charlie.  "  My  good- 
ness, was  n't  that  just  the  bravest  thing?  I 
bet  Mr.  Willett  will  think  Mary  Alice  is  the 
splendidest  girl!"  He  exhausted  his  available 
supply  of  superlatives  and  began  again.  His 
cheeks  glowed  with  the  high  color  of  excite- 
ment. 

When  Francis,  wrapped  in  a  big  overcoat 
of  Sam's,  left  at  five,  he  called  from  his  seat 
beside  the  chauffeur:  "I've  had  the  dandiest 
time  to-day,  and  I've  learned  all  about  a 
very  import'nt  subject." 

"What's  that?"  asked  Sam.  "Not  to  go 
near  old  rotten  mill  dams?" 

"No,"  said  Francis,  "gravity!" 

Next  morning,  instead  of  being  moved  out 
into  the  orchard,  Charlie  asked  that  his  chair 
be  placed  beside  Mary  Alice's  bed;  for  the 
little  girl  was  bruised  and  lame,  and  Martha 
insisted  that  a  day  in  bed  would  do  her  good. 
Mrs.  Brown  took  Dicky  out  to  see  the 
"moolies." 


104  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

"I  wish'd  I  could  think  of  somethin'  to  do 
to  amuse  you,  Mary  Alice,"  said  Charlie. 
"I  can't  read  good  enough.  I  know!  I'll 
draw  you  some  pitchers.  Mummee!" 

"Yes,  dear?" 

"Can  I  have  a  pencil  and  paper?  I  want 
to  amuse  Mary  Alice." 

"I  guess  you'll  amuse  her,  all  right,"  said 
Martha,  producing  the  articles.  "He  draws 
just  the  cutest  things,  Mary  Alice.  Have  n't 
you  seen  him  do  it  yet?  Well,  you  just 
watch." 

Charlie  fell  to  work,  his  paper  resting  on 
the  back  of  an  old  geography. 

"There,"  he  said,  "that's  a  cow." 

"Is  it?"  asked  Mary  Alice. 

" '  Course  it  is;  you  've  got  it  upside  down." 

"Oh,"  said  the  invalid;  "that's  pretty 
good.  Le's  see  you  make  a  house,  with  a  man 
and  a  dog  goin'  into  it,  with  three  strokes  of 
your  pencil." 

"Golly,"  said  Charlie,  "that's  an  old  one; 
only  I  make  him  a  soldier.  That  little  crook 
makes  the  bay'net  of  his  gun.  Now  I'll  do 
you  a  engine." 

He  went  on,  exemplifying  his  art  to  the 


A  MATTER  OF  GRAVITY  105 

great  entertainment  of  his  friend.  Then  he 
gave  her  a  little  sketch  without  comment. 

"Who's  that?" 

"Why,  good  gracious,  it's  Francis  Willett. 
It  looks  just  like  him;  now  do  one  of  me." 

Charlie  bent  his  brows  and  puckered  his 
nose.  He  scrutinized  the  face  on  the  pillow. 

"Turn  to  one  side,"  he  said.  "I  have  to 
make  'em  all  profiles.  Goodness,  Mary 
Alice,  your  nose  is  awful  straight,  and  just 
a  little  curve  makes  your  lips.  Now,  is  n't 
that  pretty?  You're  a  tumble  pretty  girl, 
I  guess.  I  never  noticed  it  'til  I  came  to 
draw  you." 

Mary  Alice  took  the  sketch. 

"Do  I  look  like  that?  Really?  Oh,  it's 
lovely.  Oh,  Charlie,  how  'd  you  ever  learn  it? 
A  little  boy  like  you!" 

"  I  don't  know,  I  just  try  it  sometimes,  when 
I  feel  like  it.  'Most  always  I  make  'em  look 
awful  —  nothin'  like  the  folks  at  all.  Then 
once  in  a  while  I  get  one  that  looks  like  this. 
I  'm  practising  quite  a  good  deal ;  but  a  cow's 
horns  is  awful  hard  to  get  put  on  to  his  head 
where  they  belong,  and  when  I  try  to  make  a 
kitty,  it  always  looks  like  a  dog.  I'm  glad 


106  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

you  think  this  one  of  you  is  nice,  and  you 
can  keep  it  to  show  how  you  looked  when  you 
were  a  little  girl.  Here 's  me." 

He  produced  a  hideous  caricature  of  him- 
self, with  prodigious  ringlets,  great  staring 
eyes,  and  a  wide  mouth  like  a  jack-o'-lantern. 

"The  Boss  says  it  looks  exactly  the  way 
I  do,"  he  said.  "Look  at  the  curls.  Le's 
take  yours  and  mine  and  have  'em  framed 
together." 

"Don't,  Charlie,"  protested  Mary  Alice; 
"I  think  you're  horrid.  You  can  make  a 
lovely  picture  of  yourself,  I  believe.  Do  it, 
will  you?" 

"No,"  said  the  little  boy,  "I'd  rather  do 
somethin'  interesting  like  a  duck  or  a  —  a 
—  boy  fallin'  in  the  mill  pond.  See,  Mary 
Alice,  this  is  water,  splashin'.  And  this  is  a 
fish." 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE   RETURN   OF   LEM 

MRS.  BROWN  and  the  children  went  back 
to  Sheffield  on  Sunday  so  that  Monday  morn- 
ing work  could  begin  early.  She  went  out  to 
work  three  days  a  week  and  on  the  other  three 
did  washings  at  home.  The  Browns  were 
vastly  benefited  by  their  visit  at  the  farm. 
Plenty  of  good  milk  and  fresh  air  had  made 
a  new  baby  of  little  Dick,  but  as  he  was  now 
beginning  to  walk,  it  was  more  trouble  to 
take  care  of  him.  Hitherto  his  mother  had 
been  able  to  leave  him  in  charge  of  her  neigh- 
bor in  the  tenement  across  the  hall,  but  now 
the  neighbor  made  sundry  perfectly  valid  ex- 
cuses for  declining  his  care. 

It  was  the  end  of  summer  and  school  would 
soon  begin;  for  another  week  or  two  Mary 
Alice  could  stay  at  home  while  her  mother 
went  out.  After  that  a  decision  must  be 
made.  Should  Mary  Alice  forego  further 

107 


108  LITTLE   SIR  GALAHAD 

schooling  for  economic  reasons  and  either 
stay  at  home  to  enable  Mrs.  Brown  to  work 
out,  or  get  a  job  herself  so  that  her  mother 
could  remain  at  home,  doing  such  work  as 
she  could  at  her  own  tubs? 

Mrs.  Brown  fought  against  the  idea  of  tak- 
ing Mary  Alice  out  of  school.  She  thought 
of  the  day  nursery  for  Dicky;  but  the  day 
nursery  was  on  the  far  side  of  the  city  from 
Calvert  Street,  and  upon  inquiry  it  proved  to 
be  taxed  to  capacity. 

The  rent  must  be  paid,  Dicky  must  have 
milk.  Mrs.  Brown  almost  regretted  the  two 
weeks  of  idleness;  she  would  have  to  work 
twice  as  hard  to  pay  for  them. 

One  night  Francis  Willett  met  Mary  Alice 
on  Clipper  Hill.  As  usual  he  took  the  wagon 
tongue  from  her  hand  and  started  to  draw 
the  load  up  the  long  slope. 

"I'm  not  comin'  here  any  more,"  said 
Mary  Alice. 

"Why  not?" 

"Mrs.  Travers  is  goin'  to  Europe." 

"That's  right;  so  she  is.  I  heard  Lutey 
Travers  braggin'  about  it.  I  hate  braggin'. 
Galahad  Knights  don't  —  " 


THE  RETURN  OF  LEM  109 

"And  I've  got  a  job;  I'm  goin'  to  work." 

"Doin'  what?" 

"Bundle  girl  at  Stacey's." 

"Oo,  gee!  You're  goin'  to  work  for  Toots 
Stacey's  dad?  That 's  swell.  I  'd  like  to  work 
in  a  store.  I've  got  to  go  to  a  prep  school 
and  fit  for  college.  It's  awful.  Well,  of 
course  it  is  n't  so  awful  goin'  to  a  prep 
school,  but  I'd  heaps  rather  be  in  a  store. 
How's  Sir  Charlie  Thomas?" 

"I  don't  know.  We  came  home  the  week 
after  you  boys  was  there." 

"Two  weeks  ago  that  was.  Father's  seen 
him  since  then." 

"Your  father  has?" 

"Sure.  He  drove  out  again  to  see  Sam 
Thomas.  He  says  Sam  Thomas  is  a  dandy 
feller.  We  're  goin'  to  take  all  our  butter  and 
eggs  from  him  after  this.  But  that  ain't  all. 
My  dad  says  he's  goin'  to  have  Uncle  Billy 
Jackson  look  at  Charlie's  legs.  He  is  n't 
really  my  Uncle  Billy  —  he  was  father's  col- 
lege room-mate,  and  now  he 's  a  great  doctor. 
My  dad  says  Uncle  Billy  knows  more  about 
feet  and  legs  and  spines  than  anybody  in  the 
world  —  he 's  a  specializer.  When  he  gets 


110  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

through  with  Charlie,  I'm  goin'  to  have  him 
do  somethin'  to  my  legs,  so  I  can  run  faster  'n 
any  boy  at  school.  I  bet  he  can  do  it.  If  he 
can  take  legs  that  are  n't  any  good  at  all,  like 
Charlie's,  and  make  'em  work  all  right,  he 
ought  to  be  able  to  make  perfectly  good  legs 
like  mine  still  better,  don't  you  think?" 

Mary  Alice  answered  something  very  in- 
coherent. Sudden  tears  blurred  before  her 
eyes.  Suppose  this  great  doctor  should  help 
Charlie?  All  the  way  up  the  hill  she  walked 
in  silence  by  Francis  Willett's  side. 

"For  goodness'  sake,  Mary  Alice,"  the  boy 
burst  out,  "why  don't  you  talk?  I  never 
saw  such  a  person  as  you.  My  father  says 
you're  the  quietest  young-one  he  ever  saw. 
Sometimes  I  wonder  if  you're  mad." 

'"Course  I'm  not  mad,"  she  denied. 
"What  would  I  be  mad  about?  I'm  just 
thinkin'.  I'm  too  busy  thinkin'  to  talk,  I 
guess.  Gracious !  My  thoughts  are  all  mixed 
up  and  tumbly.  It 's  an  awful  job  to  get  'em 
straightened  out.  I'm  so  full  of  thoughts,  if 
I  ever  do  get  'em  'ranged  right  so  I  can  talk, 
I  '11  probably  be  like  one  of  those  funny  guns 
—  you  know,  battlin'  guns  —  " 


THE  RETURN  OF  LEM  111 

"Gatlin'  guns,"  said  Francis  with  fine 
scorn;  "Gatlin'  guns.  They're  named  after 
the  man  that  made  'em,  and  they  shoot  about 
a  thousand  shots  a  minute." 

"Well,  Gatlin'  guns,  then;  that's  the  way 
with  me.  I'll  talk  a  thousand  words  a  min- 
ute. Francis." 

"What  is  it,  Mary  Alice?" 

"Would  you  do  me  a  favor  —  a  real  big 
favor?" 

"Bet  I  would.    Did  n't  you  save  my  life?" 

"  Well,  then,  you  can  purtend  I  'm  a  maiden 
in  distress  or  somethin'.  You'll  be  goin'  to 
Stacey's  to  buy  somethin'  or  do  an  errand  for 
your  mother  once  in  a  while,  and  I  '11  be  there 
every  day,  doin'  up  bundles.  I  don't  know 
where  I  '11  be,  but  I  wonder  if  you  would  come 
and  see  me  just  a  minute,  once  in  a  while. 
You  —  you  —  been  awful  nice  to  —  to  Char- 
lie Thomas.  I  never  knew  a  boy  just  like  you 
—  the  boys  in  our  neighborhood  are  nasty." 

"Oh,  Mary  Alice,"  said  Francis,  feeling  the 
red  creep  into  his  face.  He  became  suddenly 
very  awkward.  He  lost  all  his  swagger,  all 
his  complacence.  "Oh,  Mary  Alice,"  he  said, 
"you  quit!  I  never  did  anythin*.  Don't  you 


112  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

go  makin'  fun  of  me  now.  If  you  don't  stop 
guying  me,  I  won't  come  to  see  you  at  the 
store." 

They  had  turned  into  Mrs.  Travers's  side 
yard.  Francis  Willett  suddenly  remem- 
bered that  he  might  be  late  to  supper.  He 
dropped  the  wagon  tongue  and  dashed  hur- 
riedly out  of  the  gate  and  disappeared  in  the 
heavy  shadows  cast  by  the  street  arcs.  Mary 
Alice  collected  her  dollar  and  seventy-five 
cents  and  started  down  Clipper  Hill  with  her 
empty,  rattling  wagon. 

"God's  goin*  to  make  me  well,"  Charlie 
Thomas  had  said.  Suppose  —  no,  it  could  n't 
happen.  But  Charlie  was  sure  of  it.  And  if 
it  did,  why,  it  would  be  because  Mary  Alice 
Brown  had  taken  that  terrible  whipping  at 
the  hands  of  the  sodden  Lem.  But  for  that, 
Mary  Alice  would  never  have  seen  Charlie  or 
told  Francis  Willett  to  make  him  a  Galahad 
Knight,  and  then  Francis's  father  would  not 
have  — 

God  went  about  His  tasks  in  a  most  ex- 
traordinary way.  Mary  Alice  decided  that  it 
was  quite  useless  to  look  too  far  for  explana- 
tions. Better  be  like  Charlie  and  believe 


THE  RETURN  OF  LEM  113 

that,  somehow,  the  thing  that  you  wanted 
to  happen  must  happen.  If  it  was  necessary 
for  Mary  Alice  to  suffer  pain,  even  broken 
bones,  in  order  that  Charlie  Thomas  might 
have  a  new  pair  of  legs,  the  arrangement  was 
entirely  satisfactory  to  her.  She  would  do  it 
again,  she  would  accept  twice  as  much  pun- 
ishment if  it  would  do  Charlie  any  good. 

Then  it  appeared  quite  plain  that  Charlie 
Thomas  was  not  the  only  gainer.  Had  n't 
she  made  several  new  friends  and  discovered 
some  old  ones  for  her  mother?  She  had  a 
new  dress,  she  was  getting  plump.  There  had 
been  those  two  exquisitely  happy  weeks  in 
the  country. 

"I  guess,"  she  thought,  "God's  all  right 
when  He  —  when  He  gets  around  to  you." 

Mary  Alice  did  not  know  that  a  great  many 
people  who  are  always  making  excuses  for 
God,  always  trying  to  explain  away  the 
apparent  discrepancies  or  contradictions  in 
God's  procedure,  would  have  been  deeply 
shocked  to  hear  her  "guess  that  God  was  all 
right"  and  would,  no  more  than  Mary  Alice 
herself,  have  realized  that  she  was  perfectly 
reverent  and  entirely  prayerful. 


114  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

Stacey's  paid  Mary  Alice  four  dollars  a 
week  and  set  her  up  in  a  sort  of  lookout  box 
back  of  the  glove  counter,  where  she  inserted 
the  purchases  of  customers  in  envelopes  and 
manipulated  one  end  of  a  pneumatic  tube 
which  completed  the  analogy  between  her 
perch  and  a  small  armed  turret. 

The  girl's  pay  and  Mrs.  Brown's  earnings 
from  her  few  laundry  customers  made  the 
little  family  more  comfortable  than  it  had 
been  for  many  months.  Sam  Thomas  came 
to  Sheffield  two  or  three  times  a  week  and 
frequently  went  out  of  his  way  to  see  Mrs. 
Brown  and  little  Dick.  If  thrifty,  Sam  was 
no  plutocrat.  He  was  trying  to  make  a  small 
farm  pay  and  found  that  reinvestment  of  his 
profits  kept  him  from  accumulating  any  con- 
siderable surplus.  A  very  bad  year,  an  unex- 
pected loss  by  drought,  fire,  or  disease  would 
"be  a  serious  matter.  When  he  had  spent  the 
greater  part  of  a  ten-dollar  bill  on  the  Browns 
and  kept  the  family  for  a  fortnight  at  the 
farm,  he  had  done  about  all  he  could  afford. 
Yet  he  hardly  ever  called  without  bringing 
some  small  gift.  Half  a  barrel  of  assorted 
vegetables,  a  little  butter,  some  eggs;  once 


THE  RETURN  OF  LEM  115 

Martha  sent  three  pairs  of  knitted  mittens, 
large,  medium,  and  small. 

"The  Thomases  deserve  luck,  Mary  Alice," 
said  Mrs.  Brown.  "Some  day  something 
grand  ought  to  happen  to  'em.  They're  al- 
ways and  forever  thinkin'  up  somethin'  to  do 
for  some  one.  I  guess  maybe  the  reason 
we're  so  poor  is  because  we're  selfish.  Did 
you  bring  home  the  shinbone?" 

"M-hm.  It  cost  ten  cents  a  pound.  It 
used  to  be  eight." 

"I'll  put  it  right  on  to  stew.  When  it's 
done  you  can  take  a  bowl  of  it  in  to  Mrs. 
Bloomer.  She's  kind  of  ailin'.  She  says  she 
misses  Dicky  so;  but  she  just  couldn't  have 
him  this  fall,  what  wittuher  rheumatism  and 
him  runnin'  around  and  into  everything. 
How  'd  things  go  at  the  store?" 

Mary  Alice  had  not  told  anybody  about 
Francis  Willett's  doctor  uncle.  She  dared 
not,  for  fear  of  disappointment.  Francis  said 
Uncle  Billy  Jackson  was  away  in  Europe  and 
would  n't  be  back  until  mid-winter.  He 
did  n't  know  whether  his  father  had  told 
Sam  Thomas  about  Doctor  Jackson;  he 
rather  thought  not. 


116  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

Francis  developed  an  extraordinary  fancy 
for  gloves.  He  needed  a  new  pair  nearly 
every  week.  He  lost  them,  gave  them  away 
to  "poor  boys,"  wore  them  out,  the  dog  tore 
them,  they  became  soiled.  Mrs.  Willett  mar- 
veled and  Mr.  Willett  chuckled.  He  had 
seen  Mary  Alice  Brown.  She  was  a  nice  little 
girl;  she  had  saved  his  boy's  life;  he  approved 
of  Francis's  friendship  for  her  and  of  the  com- 
mon interests  that  drew  them  together.  He 
wanted  his  boy  to  be  both  democratic  and 
chivalrous.  Francis  was  the  apple  of  his  eye. 
Highstrung,  sensitive,  sympathetic,  brainy 
—  these  were  the  descriptives  he  applied  to 
the  boy,  and  he  was  wonderfully  proud  of 
him. 

It  made  John  Willett  shudder  when  he  first 
saw  little  Charlie  Thomas,  anchored  to  a 
chair,  with  his  tangled  treasure  of  hair  and 
the  unanswered  question  in  his  great  blue 
eyes.  What  if  his  boy  had  been  like  that? 
What  if  anything  should  yet  happen  to  crip- 
ple or  maim  him?  John  Willett  had  a  soft 
heart  wherever  suffering  was  concerned.  It 
pleased  him  to  see  his  boy  display  signs  of  a 
similar  tenderness.  If  the  Galahad  Knights 


THE  RETURN  OF  LEM  117 

was  Francis's  idea,  John  Willett's  pocketbook 
was  an  essential  of  its  success;  for  the  "lit- 
terchure"  and  incidental  expenses  more  than 
ate  up  the  twenty-five  cent  fees.  Willett  was 
delighted  to  help ;  for  he  was  pretty  well-to-do 
and  prided  himself  that  he  had  never  been 
selfish  with  his  money,  from  the  first  day  he 
had  ever  earned  a  dollar. 

There  was  now  but  one  cloud  upon  the  im- 
mediate horizon  of  the  Brown  family.  This 
cloud  would  grow  bigger  for  the  rest  of  the 
three  months  of  Lem  Brown's  stay  in  the 
workhouse,  and  then  goodness  knew  what 
would  happen.  Mrs.  Brown  and  Mary  Alice 
contemplated  the  possibilities  with  dread. 

Men  are  not  reformed  in  jails.  Lem  would 
emerge  sober,  but  with  the  determination  to 
remedy  that  undesired  condition  at  the  first 
opportunity.  He  would  have  no  job;  even  if 
he  kept  sober  for  a  while,  he  would  be  a  bur- 
den upon  the  family.  That  he  should  keep 
away  from  drink  more  than  a  very  few  days 
was  inconceivable. 

The  two-room  tenement  in  the  house  off 
Calvert  Street  was  almost  cozy  now.  It  was 


118  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

a  home,  clean  and  warm.  The  Browns  ate 
quite  regularly;  little  Dick  was  fat  and  rosy. 
Always  there  was  an  atmosphere  of  good 
cheer  and  comfort.  The  thought  gripped 
them:  what  would  Lem  Brown  do  to  it 
all? 

Sam  Thomas  came  as  usual,  and  one  day  he 
broached  the  subject.  "I  hate  to  get  per- 
sonal, Lottie,"  he  said.  "It  ain't  any  of  my 
business,  p'r'aps;  but  I  been  wonderin'  about 
Lem." 

Mrs.  Brown  looked  up  at  him,  but  said 
nothing.  There  was  nothing  to  say. 

"Why  don't  you  move  away  from  here,  so 
he  won't  find  you?" 

"He'd  hunt  for  us  'til  he  did." 

"Maybe  not.  This  is  a  pretty  big  town. 
You  could  go  clear  'way  over  on  the  east 
side.  Your  rent  would  n't  be  no  higher." 

"I  know,  I  know,"  said  Mrs.  Brown. 
"But  — but  — " 

"But  what?" 

"That  isn't  all,  Sam." 

"I  guess  I  don't  quite  understand  you, 
Lottie." 

"I'm  Lem  Brown's  wife!" 


THE  RETURN  OF  LEM  119 

"What  you  mean?  You  sure  can't  mean 
you're  not  willin'  to  leave  him?" 

Mrs.  Brown  nodded. 

"Well,  I'll  be  switched!  You  know  what 
it  means?  You  know  what '11  happen  to  you 
and  your  children  if  that  brute  comes  back 
to  you?  Why,  I  would  n't  hesitate  a  min- 
ute —  not  a  minute." 

Mrs.  Brown  maintained  a  stubborn  silence. 

"Women's  the  queerest  of  all  human  be- 
in's,"  said  Sam.  "Why  —  say,  you  don't  for 
a  minute  think  there's  a  chance  of  reformin' 
Lem,  do  you?  You've  tried  that  long  enough, 
ain't  you?" 

"He's  my  husband,"  said  Lottie,  hopelessly. 

"Your  husband!  Good  Lord!  Say,  I'll 
tell  you  what  you  do.  Go  to  the  police  and 
tell  'em  your  troubles  and  have  Lem  put  under 
bonds  to  keep  the  peace.  Then  the  first  time 
he- 

"No,  Sam;  I  could  n't  do  that.  You  know 
I  could  n't." 

She  went  about  her  work  absently,  squeez- 
ing the  sudsy  water  from  a  succession  of  white 
garments.  Sam  sat  helplessly  by,  studying 
her  face.  He  could  remember  when  it  had 


120  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

been  a  mighty  pretty  face,  too  —  a  good  deal 
like  little  Mary  Alice's;  only  Mary  Alice 
Was  n't  so  sparkling  as  her  mother  had  been. 
Not  much  sparkle  left  now,  poor  thing! 

"Goldarn  it!"  said  Sam,  and  arose.  "I 
got  to  be  goin'.  Next  time  I  come  in  I'll 
bring  you  a  couple  of  cabbages.  We  got 
more  'n  we  need." 

He  stumped  off  down  the  stairs.  Mrs. 
Brown  cried  a  little  into  her  washtub. 

On  the  day  of  his  release  Lem  Brown  came 
home  in  mid-afternoon.  As  he  turned  into 
the  alley  off  Calvert  Street,  a  man  stepped 
out  of  the  grocery  store  on  the  opposite 
corner  and  took  up  a  post  across  the  alley 
from  the  Brown  tenement,  where  he  waited 
ten  or  fifteen  minutes. 

"I  guess  it's  time  enough  now,"  the  man 
said  to  himself,  and  climbed  the  stairs. 

Mrs.  Brown  was  occupied  with  her  cus- 
tomary business  when  Lem  came  in.  He  was 
quite  a  different  Lem  from  the  dominant 
brute  she  had  seen  on  that  distressing  night. 
She  pitied  him ;  this  was  what  Lem  wanted. 

"Hullo,  Lot,"  he  said,  seating  himself  near 
the  tubs.  "How  you  gettin'  along?" 


THE  RETURN  OF  LEM  121 

"Hullo,  Lem,"  she  replied,  and  kept  her 
eyes  on  her  work. 

"Ain't  you  glad  to  see  me?" 

"Of  course.    Have  you  had  a  hard  time?" 

"Dretful;  somethin'  awful.  Work,  work, 
work,  from  mornin'  'til  night,  and  half- 
starved  all  the  time.  That  workhouse  is  a 
torture  hole,  if  there  ever  was  one." 

He  was  working  up  a  fine  case  of  self-pity. 
He  had  been  very  badly  treated.  Mrs. 
Brown  noticed  that  he  was  clean,  that  his 
hair  was  trimmed,  that  he  had  on  a  new 
blue  denim  shirt  and  a  halfway  respectable- 
looking  suit  of  clothes.  The  old  flush  had 
gone  out  of  his  face,  which  was  now  of  a 
pasty  pallor;  his  eyes,  still  bulbous  and 
opaque,  as  if  they  were  artificial  and  badly 
made,  were  free  from  congested  red  veins. 
His  hands  were  quite  white,  and  he  was  not 
in  the  least  thin,  but,  on  the  contrary,  looked 
very  well  fed. 

"I  s'pose  I  got  to  go  look  for  a  job,"  said 
Lem.  "I  got  to  have  a  little  carfare." 

Mrs.  Brown  looked  up. 

"Do  you  mean  that,  Lem?"  she  asked. 
"Do  you  really  want  money  for  carfare? 


122  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

How  much  do  you  want?  Where  are  you 
going  to  look  for  a  job?" 

The  pale  light  of  hope  burned  in  her  eyes. 
She  would  gladly  give  her  husband  money, 
if  it  would  help  him  to  find  honest  work,  if  he 
would  keep  away  from  liquor.  Long  years  of 
experience  seemed  to  have  taught  her  noth- 
ing. This  thing  had  happened,  oh,  so  many 
times  before.  Lem  had  only  to  act  repent- 
ant, renew  his  oft-ruptured  promises,  and  he 
got  what  he  wanted.  He  knew  it;  he  was 
banking  on  it  now.  He  drew  a  very  long, 
woe-begone  face. 

"It's  night  work,"  he  said.  "Over  at  the 
docks,  stevedorin'.  That's  the  hardest  kind 
of  work  —  stowin'  cargo  in  ships.  But  I 
s'pose  I  got  to  s'port  my  fam'ly.  I  always 
have  managed  to,  except  when  I  —  when  I 
had  one  o'  my  slip-ups.  But  that  ain't  goin' 
to  happen  no  more.  I'm  through.  I'm  a 
reformed  man.  All  I  want  is  three  dollars 
to  get  me  some  overalls  an'  a  dinner  pail  an' 
pay  my  fare  to  the  docks.  They're  needin' 
men,  and  I  can  go  right  on  to-night." 

"Wait  a  minute,"  said  his  wife.  She  went 
into  the  bedroom.  Lem  looked  after  her  and 
treated  himself  to  a  wink. 


THE  RETURN  OF  LEM  123 

The  door  from  the  hall  opened  and  a  man 
stepped  into  the  Brown  kitchen.  It  was  Sam 
Thomas. 

"Hullo,  Lem  Brown,"  he  said. 

Lem  looked  up,  startled.  When  a  man  has 
been  in  jail,  one  can't  tell  what  may  happen. 
He  did  not  remember  Sam  nor  return  the 
greeting. 

"Don't  you  recollect  me,  Lem?  I'm  Sam 
Thomas.  You  and  I  used  to  — " 

"Oh,  yes,  that 's  right;  I  do  remember  you, 
Sam.  You've  changed  a  heap,  though." 
Lem  stretched  out  a  flabby  hand,  but  did  not 
rise. 

"You  been  away,  I  hear,"  said  Sam  point- 
edly. 

"  Y-yes,  I  been  away.  That 's  right,  I  been 
away.  I  'm  back,  though.  I  been  away,  but 
I'm  back." 

"You're  goin'  away  again,  ain't  you?" 

"What,  me?  Goin'  away  again?  Oh,  no. 
I  ain't  goin'  away  again.  I  'm  goin'  to  work. 
I  got  a  job  over  at  the  docks.  I  was  just 
tellin'  Lottie  I—" 

He  stopped,  for  his  wife  had  come  in.  She 
held  three  one-dollar  bills  in  her  hand,  which 


124  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

she  hastily  thrust  behind  her,  looking  very 
guilty,  as  if  Sam  Thomas  had  caught  her 
stealing  the  money. 

"Hullo,  Lottie,"  said  Sam.  "I  see  Lena's 
back." 

"Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Brown.  "He's  got  a 
job  —  over  at  the  docks.  He 's  goin'  right 
over  there  now,  aren't  you,  Lem?" 

"M-hm.  I'm  goin'  right  over  there  this 
afternoon  —  after  I  get  me  some  overalls  and 
a  dinner  pail  and  — " 

"And  a  half  a  dozen  drinks  of  whisky,"  put 
in  Sam  Thomas  coldly. 

"Oh,  no,  no,  Sam.  Certainly  not,"  pro- 
tested Lem,  "certainly  not.  I  ain't  had  a 
drop  for  —  for  some  time." 

"Good  reason  why,"  said  Sam. 

"And  I'm  all  through  with  the  stuff  —  all 
through.  Never  again  for  me.  No,  sir.  I  'm 
goin'  to  work.  I  got  a  good  job,  stevedorin' ; 
night  work,  you  know,  stowin'  cargo  in  — 

"You  lie,  Lem." 

"What's  that?"  Lem' s  artificial-looking 
eyes  stared  with  dull  surprise  at  Sam. 

"You  lie,"  persisted  Sam.  "You  haven't 
got  a  job;  they  ain't  loadin'  no  vessels  over 


THE  RETURN  OF  LEM  125 

at  the  docks  now;  and  they  hardly  ever  work 
nights  when  they  do.  You're  a  liar,  Lem; 
and  if  you  take  that  woman's  money,  you  're 
a  thief." 

"Aw,  Sam,"  whined  Lem.  "So  help  me, 
I—" 

"Somebody's  goin'  to  help  you,  but  he 
ain't  goin'  to  help  you  to  no  drinks.  And 
Lottie  ain't  goin'  to  help  you  to  no  money 
to  help  yourself  to  none,  neither.  Is  that 
plain?" 

"But,  Sam,  I  got  to  have  some  overalls  if 
I  go  to  work — " 

"You'll  git  overalls  all  right,  all  right. 
You'll  git  somethin'  else,  too.  Come  on, 
now.  We'll  be  on  our  way." 

"What  d'you  mean,  Sam?" 

"I've  got  you  a  job,  Lem.  A  good  job  — 
a  right  swell  job.  You'll  like  it,  Lem,  'cause 
I  know  you  love  hard  work.  And  this  job 
is  sure  hard  work.  You'll  git  up  at  four 
o'clock  every  mornin',  rain  or  shine,  and  when 
bedtime  comes,  you  '11  be  so  tired  you  won't 
think  of  a  thing  but  your  supper  and  the  little 
old  sack  of  corn  husks  you  're  goin'  to  sleep 
on." 


126  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

"But,  Sam,  I'm  not  very  strong  —  I  been 
sick—" 

"This  work  I  speak  of  ain't  any  harder 'n 
stevedorin';  it  ain't  any  harder 'n  what  I 
been  doin'  every  day  for  the  last  ten  years. 
And  you  have  n't  been  sick,  and  you  're  a 
big,  lazy,  hog-fat  liar,  Lem  Brown.  You 
give  me  another  word  of  your  sass  and  I'll 
hand  you  the  grandest  whalin'  you  ever  had 
in,  your  life.  You  need  it  —  you ' ve  got  it 
comin'  to  you.  It 's  a  case  of  now  or  later.  If 
you  want  it  postponed,  just  stir  your  lazy 
stumps  and  march  out  o'  here;  if  you'd  prefer 
it  now,  I'll  ask  the  lady  to  kindly  step  out- 
side. She  might  be  annoyed  by  the  sight  of 
you  gettin'  licked." 

Sam  shook  a  fist  as  big  as  a  Chicago  ham 
under  the  nose  of  the  astonished  and 
affrighted  Lem.  Then  he  turned  to  the  wife, 
who  had  stood  mutely  and  uncomprehend- 
ingly  by. 

"Lottie,  this  big  hulk  of  a  husband  of 
yours  —  excuse  me,  but  I  'm  kind  of  stirred 
up  —  this  big  piece  of  third-quality  dogmeat 
has  got  to  go  to  work,  and  I'm  goin'  to  see 
that  he  does.  I've  been  needin'  help  on  the 


THE  RETURN  OF  LEM  127 

place  for  a  long  time.  Lem  won't  make  first- 
class  help,  but  I  ain't  goin'  to  pay  him  much. 
When  he  does  his  work  right,  he  '11  git  plenty 
to  eat  and  a  good  bed ;  when  he  don't,  I  'm 
goin'  to  hammer  him  black  and  blue.  Not  a 
cent  of  wages  does  he  draw;  but  every  little 
while  I  'm  goin'  to  put  a  few  dollars  in  a  sav- 
ings bank  for  you  and  the  kids.  If  he  can't 
be  handled,  I  'm  goin'  to  have  him  sent  back 
to  jail ;  and  this  time  it  '11  be  the  penitentiary, 
for  assaultin'  you  and  Mary  Alice  that  night. 
"And  listen,  Lottie.  Maybe  he  don't 
look  it;  but  somehow  I've  got  a  suspicion 
that  there  may  be  the  makin's  of  a  man  in 
that  mis'able  carcass  yet.  Anyhow,  I'm 
goin'  to  undertake  the  job.  So  long,  Lottie. 
See  you  next  week.  Come  on,  Lem." 


CHAPTER  IX 
FOUND:  A  SOUL 

IT  was  too  cold  and  stormy  for  little  Charlie 
Thomas  to  be  carried  out  of  doors  every  day, 
but  his  mother  never  failed  to  bundle  him 
up  and  open  the  window  to  give  him  a  few 
breaths  of  fresh  air.  The  snows  banked 
themselves  around  the  farmhouse.  Day 
did  n't  come  until  after  seven  o'clock,  and 
the  Thomas  family  ate  breakfast  by  lamp- 
light. Sam's  lantern  flickered  and  wavered 
across  the  drifts  when  he  went  to  the  barn, 
and  when  the  faithful  sun  crawled  lazily 
up  over  the  furthest  edge  of  its  white  coun- 
terpane, the  dazzling  reflections  from  all 
about  were  quite  unbearable. 

Charlie  sat  in  the  window  and  watched  the 
new  hired  man  shovel  deep  canons  in  the 
snow.  Everybody  but  Charlie  disliked  the 
new  hired  man.  He  was  a  surly,  moody 

128 


FOUND:  A  SOUL  129 

fellow,  with  hardly  a  word  to  say,  and  acted 
as  if  he  were  always  ashamed  of  something. 

Charlie  liked  him  for  two  reasons.  First, 
the  man  was  the  father  of  Mary  Alice, 
whom  he  loved  deeply.  Second,  he  was  sorry 
for  Lem.  Lem,  with  his  artificial-looking 
eyes  and  his  down-drawn  mouth  corners,  as 
if  he  were  about  to  weep  bitterly,  was  pitiful 
to  Charlie.  Somewhere  in  the  rules  of  the 
Galahad  Knights  it  said  that  every  knight 
must  pity  and  protect  the  weak  and  helpless. 
Nothing  was  said  about  protecting  the 
spineless,  but  Charlie  did  not  realize  the 
exact  nature  of  Lem's  complaint. 

"The  reason  you  don't  like  Lem,"  said 
Charlie,  "is  because  you  don't  like  him." 

"Gosh!"  chuckled  the  Boss.  "That's  a 
deep  remark.  I  s'pose  if  we  liked  him,  now, 
we'd  like  him  first  rate." 

"You  could  like  him  all  right  if  you  wanted 
to,"  insisted  the  little  boy.  "What's  he 
ever  done  to  you,  I  want  to  know?" 

"He  ain't  never  done  nothin'  to  me;  it's 
what  he  done  to  —  oh,  well,  boy,  you  might 
not  understand.  We  '11  give  the  critter  a  fair 
chance,  you  can  bet  on  that." 


130  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

In  fact,  Sam  felt  that  he  had  given  Lem 
more  than  a  fair  chance.  At  this  time  of  year 
it  was  hard  to  get  the  equivalent  of  the 
man's  food  out  of  his  labor.  Sam  kept  him 
on  the  farm  for  the  sake  of  Mrs.  Brown  and 
the  children;  he  had  made  a  bargain. 

He  had  a  hard  time  with  Lem  at  first,  for 
Lem  made  up  his  mind  not  to  work.  A 
spare  wagon  spoke,  a  thick-ended  cowhide 
boot,  and  the  threat  of  a  penitentiary  term 
combined  effectively,  however,  to  drive  him 
into  harness.  The  only  time  Lem  ever 
showed  signs  of  cheerfulness  was  meal-time. 
He  ate  enormously  and  had  sense  enough  to 
know  that  he  was  getting  food  infinitely  more 
palatable  than  jail  fare.  He  slept  in  a  com- 
fortable, if  unheated,  room  over  the  shed, 
where  he  was  provided  with  a  good  bed  and 
plenty  of  quilts. 

Once  he  ran  away.  Sam  traced  him  to 
town,  found  him  already  half -drunk  on  what 
whisky  he  could  whine  for,  and  barely  saved 
him  from  being  locked  up  in  jail.  It  may  have 
been  brutal  medicine,  but  the  thrashing  that 
Sam  awarded  him  for  his  truancy  laid  him 
up  in  bed  for  two  days.  The  Boss  despaired 


FOUND:  A  SOUL  131 

of  ever  doing  better  with  him  than  to  keep 
him  out  of  mischief  for  the  greater  part  of 
the  time.  Anyhow,  he  would  force  him  to 
work  and  help  support  his  family. 

Occasionally  Mrs.  Brown,  Mary  Alice,  and 
little  Dick  came  out  for  Sunday  dinner.  At 
such  times  Lem  was  encouraged  to  "slick  up" 
and  sit  down  with  the  family.  At  first  he 
refused;  but  at  length  he  allowed  himself  to 
be  persuaded  —  Martha  was  never  quite 
sure  how  —  and  a  stranger  would  not  have 
known,  by  casual  observation,  that  Lem  was 
not  in  the  entire  good  graces  of  all  present. 
But  he  had  very  little  to  say. 

"I  want  you  to  understand,  Lem,"  Sam 
would  explain,  "that  I  ain't  got  the  least 
grudge  against  you,  though  you  may  think  I 
act  like  I  had.  I  'm  goin'  to  treat  you  just  as 
good  as  you'll  let  me.  You  used  to  be  a 
pretty  good  feller,  Lem,  when  we  was  boys. 
I  ain't  the  one  to  blame  you  —  not  needlessly, 
anyway.  The  point  is,  you  have  n't  got  spine 
enough  to  come  back  yourself.  I  'm  watchin' 
you  like  a  cat  watches  a  mouse,  and  as  fast 
as  I  find  you  can  be  trusted,  I'm  goin'  to 
trust  you.  If  I  see  you're  helpin'  to  fight 


132  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

this  battle,  it'll  be  shoulder  to  shoulder  in- 
stead of  master  and  man.  If  there 's  a  spark 
of  manhood  left  in  you  —  well,  everybody 
knows  what  a  good  blow  '11  do  to  a  spark." 

Sam  chuckled;  the  joke  was  coarse  and 
harsh.  But  he  knew  his  man.  Here  was  oc- 
casion for  no  delicate  measures,  he  thought. 
Kid  gloves  would  be  entirely  out  of  place. 

Perhaps  Sam's  method  of  treatment  was 
not  wholly  reliable.  He  was  conscientious  in 
administering  it,  however.  It  was  a  case  of 
kill  or  cure,  he  reasoned.  He  knew  what 
Lem  was  fighting,  and  he  knew  what  sort  of 
strength  he  would  require  to  win.  He  did 
not  believe  that  Lem  had  that  strength,  either 
in  quantity  or  quality,  to  make  one  feeble  step 
upward  without  something  even  more  radical 
than  help  —  by  which  he  meant  coercion. 

Sam  would  have  laughed  scornfully  if 
anyone  had  told  him  that  love  could  help  in 
the  case  of  Lem  Brown.  In  the  first  place, 
who  in  the  dickens  was  going  to  love  him? 
Well,  there  was  his  wife;  she'd  loved  him 
once,  and  look  at  the  influence  she  had  had 
over  him!  Love?  Gosh!  A  section  of  stove 
wood  — 


FOUND:  A  SOUL  133 

But  Sam  forgot  or  overlooked  something, 
just  as  most  people  do.  You  don't  give  a 
woodchopper  a  surgeon's  lancet  to  fell  a 
tree.  In  other  words,  the  right  tools  must  be 
used  by  the  right  workman.  A  good  black- 
smith would  have  a  hard  time  making  a  split- 
bamboo  fishing-rod. 

Love  is  like  steel;  you  can  make  a  crowbar 
or  a  watch-spring  of  it.  Sam's  brand  of  love 
was  so  much  of  the  crowbar  dimension  that 
he  thought  it  was  just  plain  iron.  But  he 
did  n't  hate  Lem  Brown ;  and  every  time  he 
wagged  a  fist  under  Lem's  terrified  and  retir- 
ing chin  Sam  had,  'way  down  deep  in  his  heart, 
a  tenderness  toward  Lottie  and  Mary  Alice 
and  little  Dick,  of  which  his  fierceness  was  a 
reversed  expression.  Sam's  attitude  toward 
Lem  at  this  time  was  like  a  photographer's 
negative,  which  shows  black  where  both  sub- 
ject and  reproduction  are  white. 

But  let  us  see  how  another  workman 
achieved  results.  You  can  catch  a  forty- 
pound  salmon  with  a  codfish  line;  but  your 
skillful  fisherman  will  use  an  eight-ounce  rod 
and  a  piece  of  silk  gossamer  a  spider  might 
have  spun,  and  make  a  very  artistic  job  of  it. 


134  LITTLE   SIR  GALAHAD 

Little  Charlie  Thomas  liked  Lem  Brown. 
He  did  not  know  why  Lem  was  working  for 
his  father  on  the  farm  instead  of  in  the  city, 
where  he  could  be  with  his  family;  but  the 
explanation  satisfied  him.  Lem  was  needed 
to  help  the  Boss. 

To  Charlie,  too,  it  was  an  advantage  that 
he  was  unaware  of  Lem's  depravity.  He  saw 
in  him  only  a  sort  of  woe-begone,  sad-eyed 
hulk  of  a  man,  working  incessantly  at  tasks 
that  called  for  a  lot  of  brute  strength.  Brute 
strength  and  physical  prowess  delighted 
Charlie.  Hercules  and  Sir  Galahad  shared 
about  equally  his  regard,  with  a  shade  in 
favor  of  Sir  Galahad,  in  spite  of  his  father's 
cordial  endorsement  of  Hercules. 

Lem  was  as  powerful  as  an  ox.  In  the  early 
winter,  with  the  first  sledding,  Sam  began  to 
haul  stones  for  the  foundation  of  his  new 
creamery.  Charlie  watched  Lem  juggle  the 
great  rocks,  and  his  eyes  sparkled  with  in- 
tense admiration. 

"Gee,  Lem!"  said  he,  when  the  big  laborer 
came  in  for  his  dinner.  "Ain't  you  just  the 
strongest  feller.  I  been  watchin'  you  all  the 
forenoon." 


FOUND:  A  SOUL  135 

Lem  grunted  and  filled  his  mouth  with 
corned  beef. 

"You  'd  oughter  be  a  Galahad  Knight." 

"How's  that?"  asked  Lem,  looking  up. 
"What  kind  o'  night 's  that?" 

"A  —  a  —  kind  of  a  soldier,  that 's  always 
doin*  somethin'  for  other  folks  that 's  weaker 
'n  him.  You'd  have  lots  of  chances,  'cause 
most  everybody 's  weaker  'n  you." 

"Yes,  I  am  pretty  strong,"  agreed  Lem.  It 
was  the  first  sign  of  self-respect  he  had  shown 
since  he  had  been  with  the  Thomases. 

"I'm  a  Galahad  Knight,"  said  Charlie. 
"Of  course  I  ain't  so  strong  as  I'm  goin'  to 
be.  But  I  'm  gettin'  stronger.  Come  here  and 
feel." 

Lem  looked  foolish,  but  put  out  a  large 
paw  and  gingerly  tested  Charlie's  imaginary 
biceps,  which  he  flexed  with  great  vigor. 

"The  Boss  says  I'm  a  reg'lar  Herculuss." 

"I  don't  know  what  a  herc'luss  is,"  said 
Lem;  "but  you  sure  are  a  strong  little  feller." 

Then  Lem  smiled.  Nobody  on  the  Thomas 
place  had  ever  seen  Lem  Brown  smile  from 
the  day  Sam  had  brought  him  there,  snarling 
and  scowling.  Lem's  smile  was  really  a 


136  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

creditable  thing.  It  spread  slowly  across  his 
heavy  countenance  and  lighted  it  up  with  the 
genial  glow  of  a  jack-o'-lantern.  There  was 
actually  some  warmth  in  the  large,  popping 
china  eyes.  Somehow  Lem's  teeth  had  pre- 
served their  soundness.  Numerous  small, 
forgotten  wrinkles  radiated  from  the  corners 
of  his  mouth,  and  by  that  smile  the  entire 
character  of  the  man's  face  was  redeemed  and 
made  wholesome. 

"Ain't  you  a  comical  little  cuss!"  said  Lem. 

Martha  came  in  from  the  shed,  with  a 
comforter  tied  around  her  face.  Lem  looked 
up,  sobered  instantly,  reached  for  his  cap, 
and  scrambled  out,  like  a  boy  caught  stealing 
apples. 

"What  was  you  saying  to  that  critter, 
dearie?"  asked  Martha. 

"Oh,  I  was  just  havin'  a  little  —  er  —  con 
—  conversation  with  him,"  said  Charlie,  lick- 
ing his  lips  pleasantly  at  the  taste  of  the  big 
word.  "Lem's  a  awful  nice  feller,  mummee. 
I  was  tellin'  him  he  'd  oughter  be  a  Galahad." 

"Heaven  help  us,"  murmured  Mrs. 
Thomas.  "Such  a  boy  as  you  are,  Charlie!" 

"Lem's  so  tumble  solemn,"  said  the  child, 


FOUND:  A  SOUL  137 

nodding  his  golden  head  vehemently.  "I 
was  cheerin'  him  up.  Ain't  it  funny,  he 's  a 
great  big  strong  man,  and  I'm  a  little  boy. 
He 's  stronger  'n  most  anybody  —  a  million 
times  stronger 'n  me;  but  just  'cause  I'm 
a  Galahad  Knight  I  can  help  him  and  make 
him  feel  real  good.  He's  awful  pleasant, 
Lem  is." 

Something  had  told  Charlie  that  the  big 
laborer,  with  all  his  physical  power,  was  at 
bottom  a  weakling.  It  filled  all  the  child's 
circumscribed  world  with  a  warming  satis- 
faction to  feel  this  benevolent  advantage.  He 
resolved  to  make  the  most  of  it,  and  went 
about  the  task  with  the  subtle  instincts  of  a 
diplomat. 

One  day  Charlie  had  been  reading  to  Lem 
from  his  Galahad  book.  The  man  had 
found  out,  by  cautious  experiment,  that  his 
friendliness  for  Charlie  did  not  entail  the  ill- 
favor  of  Sam  and  Martha.  So  he  now  very 
boldly  and  confidently  pulled  his  chair  along- 
side the  little  boy  and  allowed  the  pleasant 
intimacy  to  grow  unchecked. 

"How'd  you  ever  get  a-hold  of  all  that 
about  them  knights  and  things?"  he  asked. 


138  LITTLE   SIR  GALAHAD 

"Why,  didn't  I  tell  you?"  cried  Charlie. 
"It  was  Mary  Alice." 

"Mary  Alice!" 

"Sure,  your  little  girl,  Mary  Alice.  Only 
she  's  quite  a  big  little  girl.  I  love  Mary  Alice. 
Ain't  you  just  proud  of  her?  She  's  my  bestest 
friend,  next  to  the  Boss  and  mummee.  It 
was  this  way." 

And  Charlie  went  at  length  into  the  story 
of  how  his  "bestest  friend"  had  had  him 
made  a  Galahad  Knight.  With  all  the  neces- 
sary circumlocutions,  the  recital  took  a  long 
half-hour.  Charlie  was  quite  breathless 
when  he  finished. 

"So  that 's  all  there  is  to  it,"  he  concluded. 
"Only  Mary  Alice  can't  be  a  Galahad 
Knight,  'cause  it 's  in  the  rules  that  only  us 
fellers  can  be  one.  But  she 's  '  Lady  Mary 
Alice'  whenever  she  comes  to  see  me;  and 
wit  ye  well,  Sir  Lem,  lovelier  lady  hath  never 
trod  this  earth.  So  there,  now." 

Lem  looked  at  the  little  boy,  his  china 
eyes  popping.  Martha  came  and  stood  over 
the  pair. 

"Now,  Charlie-boy,"  she  warned,  "don't 
you  get  all  tired  out." 


FOUND:  A  SOUL  139 

Lem  got  lumberingly  to  his  feet. 

" Oh,  my  gosh ! "  he  said.  "Oh,  good  gosh ! 
What  a  kid!" 

He  did  a  queer  and  presumptuous  thing. 
With  a  leathery  paw  he  reached  out  and 
patted  Charlie's  golden  head. 

"Ain't  you  the  comicalest  kid,  though!" 
he  said,  and  turned  toward  the  door.  The 
Boss  stood  there,  eyeing  Lem,  and  in  his  face 
the  hulk  that  had  been  a  man  saw  something 
far  different  from  the  usual  sternness.  The 
Boss  did  not  give  ground  to  let  Lem  pass 
out;  instead,  he  said:  "Put  her  there,  Lem! 
By  jinks,  I  don't  know  but  you're  human, 
after  all,"  and  gripped  Lem's  hand  as  one 
man  to  another. 

Lem  Brown  stalked  across  the  yard  to  the 
drag  and  began  to  pile  off  the  big  rocks.  He 
worked  as  if  he  liked  it,  even  when  the  jagged 
edges  bruised  and  cut  the  leather  of  his  blunt 
fingers. 

"Good  gosh!"  he  muttered  to  himself. 

Down  inside  of  his  being  something  was 
waking  up.  It  was  what  we  call  a  soul. 

Lem  Brown  had  begun  his  fight. 


CHAPTER  X 

JOHN  WILLETT  —  MODEL  CITIZEN 

JOHN  WILLETT,  of  Sheffield,  made  no  pa- 
rade of  personal  virtue;  yet  he  was,  if  you  be- 
lieved his  neighbors,  a  good  man.  At  the 
banks,  in  the  church,  in  the  homes  of  his 
friends,  his  reputation  was  secure.  Scrupu- 
lous to  a  penny,  generous  to  a  fault,  an  able 
business  man,  folks  pointed  him  out  and  nom- 
inated him  for  a  life  membership  in  the  Salt 
of  the  Earth  Club.  He  was  always  giving, 
yet  he  definitely  declined  to  be  called  phil- 
anthropic. He  hated  the  word  "charity," 
yet  he  was  above  all  things  charitable.  His 
heart  was  so  tender  that  it  sometimes  hurt 
him. 

John  Willett  had  gone  through  life  in  the 
belief  that  you  never  miss  what  you  give  in 
a  good  cause.  To  frequent  appeals  he  replied: 
"Help  yourself!  There's  plenty  more  where 
that  came  from!" 

140 


JOHN  WILLETT  —  MODEL  CITIZEN     141 

This  would  have  been  a  dangerous  slogan 
for  anyone  who  possessed  in  a  smaller  degree 
the  faculty  for  money-making.  You've  seen 
people  like  him.  Without  apparent  superior 
brilliancy,  without  any  emphasized  shrewd- 
ness, they  acquire  and  accumulate.  People 
slave  and  save,  practice  every  art  of  economy 
and  every  device  of  business  craft,  and  yet 
fall  far  short  of  the  success  of  men  like  John 
Willett.  He  never  drove  hard  bargains,  never 
squeezed  a  dollar,  never  haggled.  He  would 
occasionally  say:  "My  dear  sir,  if  you  want 
to  get  something,  you've  got  to  give  some- 
thing." 

A  character  like  that  of  John  Willett  col- 
lects friends  and  followers  and  supporters  as 
a  poppy  collects  bees.  Rich  and  poor,  good 
and  bad,  all  had  a  good  word  to  say  for  him. 
He  never  could  see  any  use  in  having  ene- 
mies, when  it  was  so  much  easier  and  pleas- 
anter  to  have  friends. 

This  picture  of  John  Willett  is  in  no  way 
flattering.  You  will  find  it  difficult  to  limn 
him  more  accurately.  And  he  is  by  no  means 
an  isolated  figure,  for  his  prototype  is  to  be 
found  wherever  men  are  human. 


142  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

Willett  was  an  ideal  family  man.  His 
friends  said  it  was  too  bad  he  had  only  one 
child,  since  he  passionately  loved  all  children 
and  was  such  a  model  father. 

You  can  see  the  sort  of  instincts  he  had, 
when  you  are  told  that  as  soon  as  he  became 
acquainted  with  Sam  Thomas  he  wanted  to 
help  him,  not  through  charity,  but  in  a  prac- 
tical way.  He  became  his  customer,  buying 
from  him  the  Willett  supplies  of  dairy  prod- 
ucts. Little  Charlie  Thomas  stirred  his  ten- 
derness and  prompted  him  to  arrange  for  his 
old  friend,  Billy  Jackson,  the  great  specialist, 
to  see  the  child.  If  Jackson  undertook  the 
case,  Thomas  would  be  allowed  to  think  he 
was  paying  the  physician  for  his  services,  and 
any  difference  between  his  customary  large 
fee  and  the  amount  Thomas  could  afford 
would  come  out  of  Willett's  pocket.  Sam 
Thomas  could  thus  profit  by  Willett's  assist- 
ance and  still  hold  to  his  own  self-respect. 
He  thought  his  wealthy  friend  the  finest  in 
the  world. 

Willett's  interests  were  diverse.  Without 
following  any  specialized  line  of  business,  he 
had  acquired  shares  in  a  score  of  enterprises. 


JOHN  WILLETT  —  MODEL  CITIZEN     143 

Somebody  wanted  to  start  a  factory.  Wil- 
lett's  name  heading  the  stock  subscription 
list  was  an  almost  certain  earnest  of  success. 
Willett  owned  docks  and  warehouses  to-day, 
where  yesterday  he  had  owned  water-front 
mud  banks.  He  owned  the  choicest  build- 
ing lots  in  the  city,  where  he  had  originally 
bought  rough  land  in  dismal  locations,  dec- 
orated with  nanny-goats  and  tomato  cans. 
He  owned  tenement  houses  and  business  prop- 
erty standing  in  districts  to  which  wise  heads 
had  prophesied  that  business  and  population 
would  never  extend. 

Thus  he  was  a  power  in  Sheffield;  and  with- 
out being  at  all  active  in  politics,  his  influ- 
ence was  critically  valuable.  Without  holding 
a  public  office  or  going  into  a  caucus  or  mak- 
ing a  political  speech  longer  or  more  elo- 
quent than  the  four  words,  "I'm  voting  for 
Smith/'  John  Willett,  through  his  personal 
popularity  and  reputation  for  business  suc- 
cess as  well  as  business  integrity,  was  the 
biggest  man  in  Sheffield.  A  pretty  valuable 
and  useful  citizen,  to  be  sure;  any  city  must 
be  fortunate  which  possesses  a  John  Willett. 

It  was  a  foregone  conclusion  that  John 


144  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

Willett  would  use  the  utmost  discretion  in 
picking  out  a  preparatory  school  for  Francis. 
He  studied  catalogues  and  wrote  letters  all 
summer,  and  not  until  a  fortnight  before  the 
beginning  of  term  time  did  he  make  up  his 
mind. 

For  his  beautiful  boy  he  required  a  school- 
ing among  the  sons  of  an  aristocracy,  not 
alone  of  wealth,  but  of  breeding.  Francis 
must  be  surrounded  by  influences  that  would 
continue  the  shaping  of  his  manhood  as  John 
himself  had  endeavored  to  shape  it  at  home. 
In  Francis's  school  must  be  democracy  and 
sympathy  Shd  dignity,  spiritual  ideals  as  well 
as  academic  standards.  Willett  did  not  ex- 
pect all  the  boys  at  his  son's  school  to  be 
models  of  propriety,  but  he  did  passionately 
desire  that  Francis  should  learn  to  distinguish 
between  the  fine  and  the  unworthy  and  to 
choose  wisely  both  his  intimates  and  his  way 
of  life.  He  wanted  a  school  whose  policy 
would  build  the  boy  a  backbone  of  his  own 
rather  than  furnish  him  with  a  cut-to-meas- 
ure character.  When  he  had  finally  made  his 
choice,  he  was  sure  that,  if  in  all  his  life  he 
had  done  one  thing  painstakingly  and  thor- 
oughly, this  was  it. 


JOHN  WILLETT  —  MODEL  CITIZEN    145 

Men  like  John  Willett,  highheaded  and 
highstrung,  nervously  magnetic,  big  hearted 
as  well  as  big  brained,  are  capable  of  all- 
absorbing  loves;  and  this  man's  love  for 
Francis  was  so  tender  that  he  told  himself 
he  had  but  to  match  his  love  with  a  wise 
judgment  in  ordering  the  years  preparatory 
to  his  son's  manhood  in  order  to  achieve 
greatly.  Francis  had  always  responded  ea- 
gerly to  his  father's  affection;  John  Willett 
had  reaped  richly  in  the  respect  and  admira- 
tion that  alone  can  repay  such  a  love  as  his. 

"Francis,  old  man,"  he  said,  on  the  day 
before  the  boy  would  start  for  school,  "you 
and  father  have  been  good  pals,  have  n't 
we?" 

"The  best  ever,"  replied  Francis  with  en- 
thusiasm. 

"Remember  it,"  went  on  John  Willett. 
"And  remember  that  no  matter  what  a  man 
does  in  the  world,  no  matter  what  success  he 
may  achieve,  it  is  nothing  compared  with  his 
pride  in  a  fine  son.  You  are  a  fine  son,  my 
boy,  a  fine  son.  I  could  trust  you  any- 
where to  do  the  right  thing,  could  n't  I?" 

"Yes  sirree,  you  could,  dad!" 


146  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

"Well,  then,  boy,  you  are  going  away  where 
you  will  have  a  lot  of  chances  to  choose  be- 
tween right  and  wrong.  You  won't  have 
mother  or  me  any  more  to  run  to  and  ask: 
'  Shall  I  do  this? '  or  '  May  I  do  that? '  Some- 
times you  will  not  feel  like  putting  your  prob- 
lems up  to  your  masters.  You  will  have  to 
decide  for  yourself.  Do  you  realize  it?  " 

"  I  '11  try  to,  sir."    The  boy  was  quite  grave. 

"Then  perhaps  it  will  help  you  to  draw  a 
little  picture  in  your  mind  of  mother  and  me, 
with  you  standing  by  us  asking  our  consent 
or  advice.  In  this  little  picture  ask  your 
question;  then  try  to  imagine  how  we  should 
answer  it.  See  what  the  expression  of  our 
faces  tells  you;  decide  just  what  the  most 
likely  thing  will  be  for  us  to  say.  Is  n't  that 
a  good  way?" 

"Bully,  sir;  great!" 

"You  have,  I  guess,  compared  me  with 
other  fathers  of  your  acquaintance,  and  your 
mother  with  other  mothers.  In  our  home 
we  have  always  tried  to  hold  the  atmosphere 
of  mutual  respect  and  confidence  and  good 
fellowship.  Do  you  see  what  I  mean?  " 

"Lutey  Travers's  father  and  mother  fight 


JOHN  WILLETT  —  MODEL  CITIZEN    147 

like  anything,"  said  Francis.  "And  some- 
times Mr.  Travers  gets  —  gets  —  " 

"Exactly.  It  is  not  very  nice,  is  it?  Or 
very  nice,  perhaps,  to  refer  to  it.  But  this  is 
my  point,  little  son.  All  my  life  I  have  been 
what  men  call  a  'good  fellow.'  People  like 
me  and  trust  me  and  come  to  me  with  their 
troubles.  Do  I  sound  as  if  I  were  —  er  — 
bragging?" 

'"Course  you  don't,  pop." 

"Well,  I  don't  mean  to.  I  only  want  you 
to  understand  that  in  order  to  be  a  good  fel- 
low I  have  not  found  it  necessary  to  do  a  lot 
of  things  that  —  well,  like  what  you  say 
Mr.  Travers  does." 

"Oh,  dad,  you  are  n't  that  kind  of  a  man 
one  bit.  Why  —  " 

"So  you  see,  you  can  say  to  yourself 
whenever  you  have  to  decide  what  to  do  or 
what  not  to  do:  'My  father  has  set  me  a 
good  example.  My  mother  is  as  good  as 
gold.'" 

"  I  '11  always  try  to  do  like  you,  pop ;  honest, 
I  will." 

"You  will  grow  up  and  be  a  bigger  man 
and  a  better  man  than  your  father,  dear  lit- 


148  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

tie  boy.  I  expect  it  of  you.  I  am  going  to  be 
so  proud  of  you  —  " 

Francis  threw  his  arms  suddenly  about  his 
father's  neck.  Sobbing  a  little,  he  hugged 
him  close  and  patted  the  bearded  cheek, 
which,  oddly  enough,  he  found  a  little  moist. 

Thus  John  Willett  did  his  duty  by  his  son. 
And  when  next  day  he  stood  on  the  station 
platform  and  saw  Francis's  white  handker- 
chief flutter  from  the  rear  door  of  the  dimin- 
ishing train,  he  turned  to  his  wife  and  said: 

"The  makings  of  a  fine,  clean  man,  dearest; 
thank  God  for  him  and  pray  God  to  make  him 
all  you  and  I  have  planned." 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE   GIRLS   IN   THE    "GLOVES" 

MARY  ALICE  BROWN,  working  happily  ten 
hours  a  day  in  her  little  armed  turret  at 
Stacey's,  missed  the  occasional  calls  of  the 
Galahad  Knight.  He  was  the  nicest  boy,  she 
thought.  He  had  come  to  the  store  to  say 
good-by  to  her.  Imagine  any  other  boy  who 
lived  on  Clipper  Hill  doing  a  thing  like  that! 
Francis  was  n't  a  bit  stuck  up.  The  sales- 
girls liked  him,  too,  and  good-naturedly 
chaffed  her  about  her  "gentleman  friend." 
When  his  jovial  round  face  with  its  thatch  of 
red  hair  bobbed  into  sight  down  the  crowded 
aisle,  they  would  vie  gigglingly  for  the  priv- 
ilege of  waiting  on  him.  It  was  delicious  to 
greet  him  with:  "Hello,  Francis!"  and  to 
have  him  reply:  "Hello,  Sadie;  hello,  Grace, 
hello,  Minnie!  How  's  trade?" 

"Goodness,  girls,"  one  would  cry,  "look  at 

149 


150  LITTLE   SIR  GALAHAD 

the  style  of  him!  He's  got  a  dandy  new  suit. 
Ain't  it  swell!  Your  ma  sure  does  dress  you 
elegant,  Francis." 

"Aw,  quit,"  Francis  would  say,  blushing. 
"I  picked  this  out  myself.  What  do  you  think 
I  am,  a  baby?" 

"You're  an  old  darlin',  that's  what  you 
are.  You  want  another  pair  of  them  gray 
suedes?  Here  s  some  dreams  —  just  your 
size.  Try  'em  on?" 

They  did  their  best  to  spoil  him;  he  was 
the  son  of  the  biggest  man  in  Sheffield.  They 
wondered  at  his  friendship  for  the  demure  little 
bundle  girl. 

"Who's  this  Charlie  you  and  Francis  Wil- 
lett's  always  talkin'  about,  Mary  Alice?" 
they  would  query.  "What's  the  matter  with 
him,  is  he  sick?  What,  can't  walk?  Poor  lit- 
tle feller!  Le's  go  out  and  see  him  some 
Sunday,  girls.  Could  we,  Mary  Alice?" 

They  did  it,  too.  Martha  made  ice  cream 
again,  and  Charlie  had  a  heavenly  afternoon. 
The  girls  bubbled  and  gurgled  and  exclaimed 
over  his  lovely  golden  hair  and  his  shining 
blue  eyes. 

"Mary  Alice  told  me  all  about  you,"  said 


THE  GIRLS  IN  THE   "GLOVES"       151 

Charlie.  "You're  Grace,  and  you're  Sadie, 
and  you  're  Minnie." 

Mary  Alice  had  introduced  them  as  Miss 
Corrigan  and  Miss  Tifft  and  Miss  Sternheim. 

"How  'd  you  know,  dear?"  they  chorused. 

"Mary  Alice,  she  'scribed  you.  She  says 
you  know  another  friend  o'  mine,  too.  He's 
Francis  Willett." 

"You  bet  we  do ;  he 's  Mary  Alice's  steady ! " 

Charlie  looked  puzzled.  Mary  Alice 
blushed. 

"Cut  it  out,  Min,"  warned  Grace. 
"What 's  he  know  about  steadies?  Don't  you 
mind  Minnie,  Charlie.  She's  a  terrible  old 
tease.  Francis  comes  to  see  us  all;  we  just 
dote  on  him.  And  he  buys  heaps  of  gloves." 

"It  must  be  dandy  to  work  in  a  great  big 
store,"  said  Charlie.  "I'll  be  in  to  see  you 
some  day  myself.  God 's  goin'  to  fix  my  legs 
so  I  can  walk  good  as  anybody ;  ain't  he,  Mary 
Alice?  Ain't  he,  mummee?" 

"We  hope  so,  dear,"  Martha  replied.  The 
girls  exchanged  glances.  This  utter  frank- 
ness and  confidence  upset  them  and  for  a 
moment  rendered  them  tongue-tied. 

"Ain't  it  just  a  swell  day?"  put  in  Minnie. 


152  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

"The  car  ride  out  here's  grand,  Mrs.  Thomas. 
I  think  you've  got  just  the  dearest  place. 
All  my  life  I've  wished  I  lived  on  a  farm, 
where  I  could  get  fresh  milk  and  —  and  sau- 
sages and  pineapples  and  things." 

The  other  girls  tittered.  They  said  they 
had  to  be  getting  back  before  dark. 

"Come  to  see  us,  won't  you,  Mrs. 
Thomas?"  invited  Grace.  "Next  Tuesday 
we  're  going  to  have  a  sale ;  there  '11  be  some 
special  bargains  in  dogskins  and  three-but- 
ton- 

"Hush,  for  goodness'  sake,  Grace!"  It 
was  Minnie's  turn  to  admonish.  "What  you 
come  out  here  for,  to  sell  goods?  It's  Sun- 
day, you  big  goose.  Good-by,  Charlie.  Can 
we  come  again?  " 

"Yes,  ma'am!'''  cried  Charlie.  "It'd  give 
us  the  greates*  pleasure,  would  n't  it,  mum- 
mee?  I  wish  the  Boss  was  here  —  and  Lem. 
They've  gone  up  to  the  north  pasture  lookin' 
for  our  Teddy  —  he 's  the  new  bossy  calf  and 
he's  got  lost." 

Martha  sniffed  a  little  in  reminiscence  of 
the  three  vivacious  shop  girls. 

"Such   clothes,"   she  sputtered.      "Good- 


THE  GIRLS  IN  THE   "GLOVES"       153 

ness!  I  never  saw  the  beat  of  it.  Nippin' 
along  on  them  little  pick-ed  shoes,  and  lookin' 
so  pert  in  them  cocked-over  bonnets  they 
call  hats.  I  call  'em  a  right  fresh  lot." 

"Oh,  mummee,"  said  Charlie,  "I  think 
they're  awful  nice.  Golly!  One  of  'em  had 
hair  just  the  color  of  mine,  and  blue  eyes, 
too.  Is  my  eyes  as  pretty  as  hers?  That  was 
Minnie.  And  that  red-cheeked  one,  Grace. 
She  looked  at  me  so  hard,  just  as  if  she  wanted 
to  come  and  whisper  somethin'  to  me.  But 
I  guess  Sadie  is  'bout  the  prettiest  of  all, 
'cause  she  wears  those  pink  dangly  things  in 
her  ears.  Christmas  I  'm  goin'  to  give  Mary 
Alice  some  just  like  'em.  They  are  nice 
ladies,  now,  aren't  they,  mummee?" 

"Charlie-boy,"  said  Martha,  "anything you 
like  'd  be  nice,  even  if  'twas  burdock  tea." 

"But  burdock  tea  isn't  nice,  and  Minnie 
and  Grace  and  Sadie  are  nice.  Bussides,  I  'm 
a  Galahad ;  and  Galahads  always  sticks  up  for 
damsels.  So  I'm  not  goin'  to  let  you  say 
mean  things  about  any  damsel;  specially  a 
friend  of  Mary  Alice's." 

Going  back  to  town  on  the  trolley  car, 
Minnie  suddenly  turned  to  Mary  Alice. 


154  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

" Who'd  Charlie  mean  by  the  Boss  and 
Lem?  I  guess  the  Boss  is  his  father;  but 
who's  Lem?" 

Mary  Alice  choked  on  nothing,  clutched  her 
seat,  and  opened  her  mouth  to  answer.  Just 
as  surely  as  she  lived,  she  meant  to  say: 
11  He 's  my  father."  But  it  would  n't  come 
out.  She  tried  three  times;  no  use.  Then 
she  said:  "Lem?  Oh,  Lem.  Why  —  he's  Mr. 
Thomas's  hired  man." 

It  did  not  salve  Mary  Alice's  conscience 
to  reflect  that  she  had  told  the  exact  truth. 
She  lay  awake  that  night  trying  to  square 
things  with  herself.  If  Lem  had  been  on 
hand  during  the  visit,  he  would,  if  introduced 
at  all,  have  been  presented  as  Mary  Alice's 
father.  Then  the  fact  would  have  been 
accepted  and  explained  in  as  commonplace 
a  fashion  as  possible.  What  made  her  stick, 
then,  at  confessing  him  to  her  friends?  Was 
she  ashamed  to  have  her  father  a  hired  farm 
hand?  Goodness,  Mary  Alice,  are  n't  we 
getting  up  in  the  world!  She  knew  well 
enough,  because  Sam  Thomas  had  told  her 
mother  and  her  mother  had  told  her,  that  Lem 
had  begun  to  fight  for  the  captaincy  of  his  own 


THE  GIRLS  IN  THE   "GLOVES"       155 

soul.  And  she,  his  daughter,  had  denied  him. 
She  did  n't  love  him,  that  would  be  too  much 
to  ask.  But  she,  as  much  as  any,  owed  him 
a  fair  chance. 

Before  her,  in  the  dark,  floated  the  face  of 
an  indolent,  injured  angel,  framed  in  a  bil- 
lowing border  of  shining,  priceless  gold,  and 
the  eyes  were  very  sad  and  surprised  and 
accusing.  Mary  Alice  hid  her  face  in  the 
pillow  and  promised  herself  and  Charlie  that 
she  would  tell  the  girls  in  the  morning  who 
Lem  really  was.  So  she  went  to  sleep,  quite 
easy  in  her  mind. 

But  you  know  you  can't,  somehow,  stand 
up  in  a  sort  of  pulpit,  like  an  armed  fortress, 
above  everybody's  head,  and  shout  down  that 
your  father  is  a  farmer's  hired  man.  It  would 
be  absurd.  Mary  Alice  postponed  the  revela- 
tion indefinitely.  You  must  remember  that 
Mary  Alice  was,  after  all,  only  a  little  girl, 
less  than  thirteen  years  old. 

One  day  the  floorwalker  brought  Mary 
Alice  a  letter.  It  was  addressed  in  pencil, 
and  all  the  "a's"  were  very  round,  and  the 
loop  of  the  "1"  rather  liberal.  The  lower 
part  of  the  "B"  was  smaller  than  the  second- 


156  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

story  part,  and  the  punctuation  not  unorigi- 
nal. Aside  from  these  minor  details,  it  was 
a  good,  shipshape  letter. 

"Oh,  Mary  Alice's  got  a  letter,"  cried  the 
girls.  "Who's  it  from,  honey?  Francis, 
I  bet  a  cooky.  You'll  let  me  read  it,  won't 
you,  Mary  Alice?  See  if  he  says  anything 
about  me  in  it.  Does  he  send  us  his  love?" 

Mary  Alice  would  n't  open  the  letter,  but 
tucked  it  in  her  apron  pocket,  and  the  girls 
pouted  and  said  she  was  a  mean  old  thing. 
The  forenoon  went  haltingly. 

Up  in  the  girls'  rest  room,  at  the  lunch  hour, 
Mary  Alice  stole  off  in  a  corner  and  eagerly 
slit  the  envelope  with  a  hairpin.  This  is 
what  she  read: 

SAINT  MICHAEL'S  SCHOOL 

LAKE  VALLEY 
DEAR  MARY  ALICE 

Well  here  I  am  at  last  in  a  prep  school.  It  is  a 
dandy  place  and  there  are  most  2  hundred  fel- 
lows here  and  we  are  all  going  to  the  same  college, 

the  universty  of  .     The  studies  are  awful 

hard  English  and  french  and  Germain  and  lating 
and  Greek  and  math  which  is  a  new  kind  of 
arithmetic  in  a  book  called  Johann's  Elementry 
Algebra  so  Johann  must  have  been  the  inventor 
of  it  I  should  thought  he  could  think  of  some- 


THE  GIRLS  IN  THE   "GLOVES"       157 

thing  more  interesting  to  invent  like  perpectual 
motion  Then  we  have  gym  and  that  is  fun  and 
football  and  track  and  a  debating  club  I  am 
J4  back  on  the  jr.  football  team  Well  that  is 
all  about  the  school  there  is  a  campus  and  about 
twenty  buildings  and  a  special  house  for  the 
president 

Well  I  thought  I  would  write  you  Mary  Alice 
about  a  very  particuliar  matter  on  account  of 
it  is  so  near  Christmas  I  have  a  swell  idea  First 
chance  you  get  you  go  to  the  Art  department  of 
your  store  and  pick  out  a  nice  drawing  outfit  I 
thought  of  it  in  our  drawing  class  how  it  was 
just  the  thing  to  give  Charlie  Thomas  it  would 
amuse  him  I  can  just  imajine  him  sitting  there 
poor  fellow  He  and  I  are  fellow  Galahads  so  I 
want  to  be  remembered  to  him  and  you  must 
have  a  share  in  it  We  will  give  it  to  him  together 
Put  a  card  on  it  from  Lady  Mary  Alice  and  Sir 
Francis  Willett  greetings  brother  Knight  I  guess 
it  will  tickle  him  I  would  not  bother  you  but  I 
wont  be  home  Christmas  I  am  invited  to  Walrus 
Farquhar's  house  for  the  holidays  and  mother 
and  father  say  I  can  go  so  that  is  all 
From  your  devoted  sir  Knight 
F.  WILLETT 

P.  S.    Father  says  Uncle  Billy  Jackson  is  coming 
home  right  after  New  Year 
Second   P.   S.     I   forgot     You  can  have  them 
charge  the  drawing  outfit  to  father 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE   BESTEST   CHRISTMAS 

CHRISTMAS  at  the  Thomas  farm  was  al- 
ways Charlie's  day.  This  year  he  was  a 
year  older  and  a  year  wiser.  Somewhere  in 
the  course  of  twelve  months  Charlie  had 
discovered,  consciously,  the  thing  that  can 
make  every  one  of  three  hundred  and  sixty- 
five  days  a  Christmas.  Perhaps  it  had  been 
between  the  covers  of  his  beloved  "Story  of 
Sir  Galahad"  on  that  first  day  Mary  Alice 
had  read  it  to  him.  Oh,  how  many  times  they 
had  read  it  together  since,  and  how  many 
times  he  had  read  it  by  himself!  Charlie 
had  learned  a  great  deal  about  reading  since 
Mary  Alice  came. 

Firmly  implanted  in  the  boyish  heart  was 
the  love  of  the  Christmas  mystery  —  the 
thrill  of  being  surprised,  the  ecstasy  of  view- 
ing the  surprise  and  pleasure  of  another  at 
the  novelty  or  munificence  of  one's  gift.  The 

158 


THE  BESTEST  CHRISTMAS  159 

joy  of  being  one's  own  Santa  Claus  had  soft- 
ened the  disappointment  of  parting  with  the 
Santa  Claus  of  tradition. 

Christmas  at  the  farm  had  meant  a  little 
love  feast,  with  three  to  partake.  Now  it 
meant  something  more  —  the  open  door  of 
hospitality,  the  sharing  of  one's  blessings. 
Charlie,  with  Martha's  help,  sent  out  his 
invitations. 

Will  you  please  come  to  our  party  on  Christmas 
night  ?  We  are  going  to  have  a  Tree  and  a  Turkey. 
It  weighs  seventeen  pounds.  Commences  at  six 
o'clock. 

Very  respectfully  yours, 
CHARLES  B.  THOMAS. 

The  list  of  guests  comprised  Mr.  Lem 
Brown,  Mrs.  Lem  Brown,  Miss  Mary  Alice 
Brown,  Master  Richard  Brown,  Mr.  John 
Willett,  and  Mrs.  John  Willett.  Charlie 
insisted  that  each  invitation  be  mailed  in  a 
separate  envelope.  Sam  and  Martha  had. 
some  misgivings  about  the  Willetts. 

"I  would  n't  know  what  to  do  to  entertain 
them  swells,"  said  Martha.  "Still,  if  Charlie 
wants  'em,  I  '11  do  my  best.  Mr.  Willett 's 
fine;  I  wouldn't  mind  him  so  much.  But 


160  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

Mrs.  Willett  's  different.  She  'd  embarrass 
me  to  pieces." 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  said  Sam,  trying  to  be 
encouraging.  "The  day  she  drove  out  with 
him  she  was  right  pleasant,  I  thought.  I 
guess  she  ain't  so  set  up.  Everybody  says 
the  Willetts  are  real  democratic  folks;  be- 
sides, what 's  the  matter  with  us,  I  'd  like  to 
know?  We 're 's  good 's  them;  Willett  was 
poorer 'n  I  am  once." 

Yet  it  was  with  distinct  relief  that  the 
Thomases  read  Mrs.  Willett's  gracious  and 
cordial  answer  to  Charlie's  invitation.  They 
were  to  spend  Christmas  with  Mrs.  Willett's 
people.  If  Francis  were  to  be  at  home,  it 
would  be  different;  he  would  have  been  de- 
lighted. She  regretted  very  much,  and  so 
forth  and  so  on. 

"Thank  goodness,"  said  Martha.  "Then 
it'll  be  just  us  and  the  Browns." 

Sam  gave  Charlie  five  dollars  to  shop  with, 
and  the  little  boy,  very  deprecating  and 
apologetic,  declined  to  take  anyone  but 
Mary  Alice  into  his  confidence  regarding 
his  purchases. 

"She  works  in  the  store,"  he  explained. 


THE  BESTEST  CHRISTMAS  161 

"She  can  buy  all  the  things  perfec'ly  con- 
venient." 

He  and  Mary  Alice  spent  a  long  and  happy 
two  hours,  gold  touching  black,  while  they 
planned  and  discussed  and  wrote  and 
scratched  out  and  wrote  again.  Afterward 
Charlie,  weary  but  glowing,  leaned  back  and 
gazed  out  across  the  snow-covered  fields  at 
his  friends  the  mountains,  now  delicately 
pink  in  the  afternoon  sun. 

"  Mary  Alice  is  a  great  help  to  me,"  he  told 
his  mother  at  bedtime.  "  She 's  got  the  beau- 
tifullest  ideas,  and  she 's  so  kind  of  —  of 
practical,  too." 

The  Christmas  season  never  came  and  went 
without  its  heartache  for  Sam  and  Martha. 
Every  year  they  caught  themselves  peering 
across  the  future  for  the  time  when  Christmas 
might  be  —  different.  To  Martha  the  unus- 
ual festivities  of  this  Christmas  emphasized 
the  recurrent  pang. 

"Oh,  Sam,"  she  said,  "I  don't  know's 
I  can  bear  it.  What  if  —  if  -  -  " 

"Don't,  Martha,  don't,"  begged  her  hus- 
band. "I  know  jest  how  you  feel.  But  le's 
cheer  up  all  we  can.  Le's  make  the  most  of 


162  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

it.  It'll  be  —  be  somethin'  to  look  back  on 
when  -  Oh,  what ' s  the  use  borryin'  trouble, 
old  girl?  He 's  as  well  as  he  was  last  year, 
ain't  he?  Better,  a  whole  lot  better.  What 
you  and  I  need  is  a  little  o'  the  boy's  own 
faith.  He 's  got  the  right  idea.  We  'd  all 
be  better  off;  ain't  I  right?" 

"Yes,  Sam,  you're  right.     I  ought  to  be 
ashamed  o'  myself." 

And  so  the  great  night  finally  came.  As 
modern  Christmases  go,  the  weather  and  the 
amount  of  snow  were  quite  up  to  specifi- 
cations. We  get  to  thinking  that  the  old- 
fashioned  white  Christmas  is  growing  scarce, 
like  brick  ovens  and  real  Provincial-period 
furniture.  We  have  become  used  to  see- 
ing the  thermometer  around  forty  and  rain 
falling  in  torrents,  or,  at  best,  gray,  iron 
ground  insufficiently  clothed  with  rusted 
leaves.  But  the  weather  man  this  year  had 
perhaps  fallen  to  dreaming  of  his  boyhood 
days  in  the  country,  and  becoming  quite 
sentimental  —  a  little  "soft  in  the  head" 
he  had  turned  just  the  right  valves  and  pulled 
the  proper  levers  so  that,  wonder  of  wonders, 


THE  BESTEST  CHRISTMAS  163 

the  fine,  clean  snow  lay  in  gentle  billowing 
drifts,  sparkling  in  the  rays  of  a  whacking 
big  moon,  and  the  air  bit  and  tingled.  Oh, 
it  was  some  Christmas! 

In  the  sitting-room  the  table  was  all  set. 
The  bright  coals  in  the  heater  glowed  through 
the  squares  of  mica,  and  on  its  top  apples 
in  a  pan  sputtered  and  sizzled,  rilling  the 
room  with  a  sugary  odor. 

"Don't  light  the  lamp  just  yet,  mummee," 
said  Charlie.  "I  can't  see  out  the  window  if 
you  do." 

So  he  sat  looking  down  the  snowy  road,  all 
patched  and  shadow  barred  in  the  slant  moon- 
light. To  Martha  it  seemed  as  if  her  boy, 
there  in  the  pale  glow  from  the  window, 
were  surrounded  and  glorified  by  the  soft 
aura  from  his  golden  head.  She  went  into 
the  kitchen  and  basted  the  turkey,  which 
crackled  and  popped  in  its  own  savoriness. 

Came  the  far,  thin  clanging  of  a  gong. 
The  Sheffield  trolley,  approaching  the  end  of 
the  line,  slid  into  view  with  shining  rectangles 
of  light,  rocking  and  dipping.  Then  it  stopped, 
and  Charlie  knew  that  passengers  were  step- 
ping down  into  the  snow.  In  five  minutes 


164  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

Mary  Alice  and  Mrs.  Brown  and  baby  Dick 
would  cover  the  distance  to  the  house.  Mary 
Alice  would  be  hauling  her  brother  tucked 
up  warmly  in  a  soap  box  nailed  on  a  fifty- 
cent  sled.  Out  in  the  kitchen  rose  the  Boss's 
voice,  loud  and  hearty. 

"Hullo,  there,  Lem,  old  scout!  All  dolled 
up!  Say,  you've  got  a  nosebleed,  ain't  ye? 
Gosh,  no!  It's  that  red  necktie.  You  sure 
scare't  me.  How  long  ye  be'n  home?  I  did  n't 
see  ye  drive  into  the  yard.  Bring  a  paper? 
Shucks,  I  forgot.  'Course  they  ain't  no  eve- 
nin'  papers  on  a  holiday.  Set  down.  Well,  go 
'long  in  'f  you  'd  rather.  He 's  watchin'  out 
down  the  road  for  the  folks." 

Lem  had  been  to  town  that  afternoon, 
alone.  Sam  had  let  him  take  the  horse  and 
sleigh.  So  far  in  the  matter  of  trusting  his 
hired  man  he  had  not  heretofore  gone.  It 
was,  to  Sam's  way  of  thinking,  the  supreme 
test.  If  Lem  could,  on  this  day  of  all  others, 
run  the  gauntlet  of  bright  and  beckoning  win- 
dows, dodging  the  sinister  hospitality  that, 
despite  the  gentler  influences,  can  turn  Christ- 
mas into  a  milestone  of  bitterness  and  regret, 
and  return  to  the  farm  clear-eyed  and  clean- 


THE  BESTEST  CHRISTMAS  165 

breathed,  Sam  would  feel  that  a  great 
measure  of  success  had  been  won.  Nobody 
but  Sam  knew  with  what  misgivings  he  had 
permitted  the  experiment.  To  Lem,  least 
of  all,  had  he  voiced  the  faintest  distrust. 
Lem  knew.  Heavy,  sluggish,  stoical,  Lem 
was  no  fool.  He  was  just  a  big,  hulking  boy, 
placed  on  his  honor. 

To  Sam  the  safe  return  of  Lem  marked 
this  as  the  great  Christmas  of  Christmases. 
He  had  made  a  man  out  of  little  more  than 
the  dust  of  the  road.  He  wondered,  in  all 
intended  reverence,  if  the  Creator  did  n't 
feel  something  of  the  same  warm  exultation 
when  He  saw  clean-limbed  young  Adam  rise 
and  salute  his  Maker.  There  might  be 
presents  and  presents,  books,  bicycles,  and 
bullion,  but  Sam's  gift  was  greater  than  all;  he 
had  given  back  to  manhood  a  foundered  soul. 

"Hullo,  Charlie-boy,"  said  Lem.  He  pulled 
a  chair  close  and  sat  down  by  the  little  boy 
in  the  dusk.  "How  're  you  feelin'?" 

"Great,"  said  Charlie.  "F'r  goodness' 
sakes,  Lem,  wherever  have  you  been  all 
afternoon?" 

"Sheffield." 


166  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

"What  for?  The  stores  are  n't  open.  You 
could  n't  buy  anythin'." 

"That 's  all  right;  I  had  a  putty  good  time, 
all  the  same." 

"Tell  me,  Lem." 

"Give  a  guess." 

"To  see  your  folks?" 

Lem  wagged  his  head. 

"Ice-cream  parlor?" 

"Nope." 

Charlie  thought  hard;  then  he  laughed 
triumphantly. 

"Aw,  gosh,  Lem!  I  know!  A  pitcher 
show." 

"Kee-ra;//"  cried  Lem.  "It  was  a  bird, 
too.  Seen  a  reg'lar  rip-snorter,  five  reels. 
Name  of  it  was  'The  Panther's  Eye.'  It 
was  a  bird!" 

"Oh,  Lem,  I  wisht  I  could  see  a  pitcher 
show.  Ne'  mind.  I  will  pretty  soon.  I 
had  a  dream  last  night;  it  was  another  one 
about  me  bein'  well.  It's  comin'  true,  too. 
God 's  got  some  kinder  plan.  I  don't  know 
what  it  is,  but  I  bet  it's  goin'  to  work.  Say, 
Lem,  tell  me  'bout  that  tiger-eye  pitcher 
show." 


THE  BESTEST  CHRISTMAS  167 

"Ain't  got  time,"  said  Lem,  hurriedly  ris- 
ing. "  Look  who 's  comin'." 

The  Brown  family  was  arriving,  a  sil- 
houetted parade  crunching  up  the  side  drive. 
Lem  tramped  out  and  Charlie  saw  him,  bare- 
headed and  coatless,  meet  the  arrivals  mid- 
way to  the  door.  He  kissed  Mrs.  Brown  and 
Mary  Alice  and  picked  up  his  son  from  the 
soap  box. 

"Lem's  changed  a  tumble  lot,"  thought 
Charlie.  "I  wonder  what  was  the  matter 
with  him  when  he  first  come  here.  He 
seemed  so  cross  and  glum  'th  everybody  but 
me.  I  wonder  why  he  went  to  a  pitcher  show 
'stead  of  to  see  his  folks.  Kind  of  funny  he 
would  n't  have  took  Mary  Alice  to  it,  seems 
to  me." 

The  Browns  stamped  in,  laughing  their 
greetings  to  Martha  and  Sam.  Little  Dick, 
who  had  been  asleep,  waked  up  and  howled 
hungrily  until  his  mother  could  get  him 
tucked  away  in  Martha's  bed  with  a  warm 
bottle.  The  lamps  were  brought  into  the 
sitting-room,  and  Charlie  gave  radiant  wel- 
come all  around.  Martha  trotted  in  with 
the  seventeen-pound  turkey,  Mrs.  Brown  and 


168  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

Mary  Alice  helped  with  the  balance  of  the 
"fixin's,"  and  the  celebration  was  on. 

Even  with  such  an  unusually  delightful 
host  as  Charlie,  the  Thomases'  Christmas 
dinner  was  not  essentially  unlike  other  con- 
temporary affairs  of  the  same  kind.  Every- 
body ate  too  much,  and  talked  and  laughed 
and  joked  and  ate  some  more.  Little  Dick 
finished  his  bottle  and  was  brought  out  to  sit 
in  a  borrowed  high  chair  and  test  some  new 
dental  equipment  on  a  colossal  drumstick. 

Likewise,  when  dinner  was  over  and  all 
that  painfully  padded  company  settled  back 
helplessly  in  groaning  chairs,  the  disclosure 
of  the  Christmas  tree,  whose  balsamy  odor 
had  been  stealing  out  from  behind  a  vast  white 
curtain  in  the  corner  to  mingle  with  and 
enrich  the  other  appropriate  aromas  of  the 
occasion,  was  accomplished  in  quite  the 
orthodox  manner.  Lem  and  Sam,  arising 
with  groanings,  lit  the  candles.  Everybody 
made  a  suitable  exclamation  of  awe.  Charlie 
was  satisfied.  His  Christmas  party  was  a 
success.  The  distribution  of  presents  evoked 
loud  protestations  of  gratitude.  Charlie  was 
transported. 


THE  BESTEST  CHRISTMAS  169 

"'S  the  bestest  Christmas  I  ever  had,"  he 
said,  again  and  again. 

And  then  three  things  happened  that  sud- 
denly lifted  this  Christmas  out  of  the  cate- 
gory of  common  or  garden  Christmases  and 
set  it  up,  apart  and  distinct,  just  as  its  own 
turkey  jutted  mountainously  up  out  of  the 
foothills  of  surrounding  vegetables. 

A  loud  volley  of  startling  explosions  in 
the  yard  made  everybody  jump;  wheels 
ground  squeakily  upon  hard-packed  snow. 
A  dark  bulk  with  glaring  dragon  eyes  slid 
past  the  window  and  stopped.  Let  the  ab- 
sence of  jingling,  jangling  sleigh  bells  cause 
no  disappointment.  You  can't  have  every 
detail  of  an  old-fashioned  Christmas  in  these 
roaring  times. 

Sam  went  to  the  side  door,  parleyed  in 
muffled  tones,  cried,  "Thanks;  good  night," 
and  returned  with  a  great  flattish  packing 
case.  The  dark  bulk  in  the  yard  backed, 
snorting  and  grunting  to  the  road,  swung 
about,  and  was  off  down  its  own  projected 
path  of  light  toward  Sheffield.  Sam  and  Lem 
strewed  the  sitting-room  carpet  with  excelsior 
and  paper  and  strings  until  Martha  was 
quite  put  out  at  the  muss. 


170  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

"For  goodness*  sake,  what's  all  them  tools 
and  things?"  demanded  the  Boss.  "Gosh, 
ma!  This  big  board  'd  be  first  rate  to  roll 
your  butter  on .  What '  s  them  little  duflicker s  ? 
Look  at  the  lead  pencils." 

"I  know,  I  know,"  cried  Charlie  ecstati- 
cally. "  It 's  a  reg'lar  drawrin'  outfit.  Who 
do  you  s'pose  —  ' 

"Here's  some  kind  o'  note,"  said  Lem, 
picking  up  one  of  the  planks  which  had  been 
wrenched  from  the  top  of  the  case.  It  says: 
'S-i-r  Sir  Ker-night  Charles  B.  Thomas.'  Rip 
'er  open,  chummy;  who's  she  from?"  Charlie 
read : 

"To  Sir  Knight  Charles  Brushly  Thomas,  from 
a  few  of  his  mul-mul-titood-i-nous  ad-mirin' 
friends. 

"MR.  AND  MRS.  JOHN  WILLETT 
FRANCIS  WILLETT 
GRACE  CORRIGAN 
SARAH  V.  TIFFT 
MINNIE  MADELINE  STERNHEIM 
MARY  ALICE  BROWN  " 

"Oh,  dear,"  cried  Charlie,  looking  up  with 
shining,  pathetic  eyes.  "I  never  invited  the 
girls  to  my  party." 

"Don't  you  fret,  Charlie-boy,"  comforted 


THE  BESTEST  CHRISTMAS  171 

Mary  Alice.      "They  couldn't  have  come. 
They  all  went  out  of  town  for  Christmas." 

Everybody  looked  expectantly  at  Mary 
Alice.  An  explanation  was  wanted. 

"It  was  Francis's  idea,"  she  said.  "First 
he  wanted  that  him  and  me  —  he  and  I 
should  give  it  to  you;  then  the  girls  heard 
about  it,  and  they  were  just  crazy  to  help.  I 
went  to  Mr.  Willett's  office  —  I  had  to  be- 
cause —  for  a  reason  —  and  at  first  he  said 
he  and  Mrs.  Willett  would  do  it  all.  But  I 
told  him  the  girls  would  be  so  disappointed, 
and  we  fixed  it  this  way.  I  been  so  nervous, 
for  fear  it  would  n't  come.  Mr.  Willett  said 
he  'd  have  it  sent  out,  but  I  was  afraid  - 
Is  n't  it  a  dandy?  It's  better 'n  any  Stacey's 
had  in  their  whole  art  department.  Mr. 
Willett  sent  'way  to  New  York  for  it." 

This  was  a  long  speech  for  Mary  Alice. 
She  blushed  and  retired  into  the  shadows. 

"You  lazy  critters,  clean  up  this  mess," 
said  Martha.  Lem  went  out  with  a  big 
armful  of  rubbish,  while. Sam  followed  with 
the  empty  case.  Charlie  sat  fingering  the 
shiny  instruments,  his  eyes  glistening  with 
happiness. 


172  LITTLE   SIR  GALAHAD 

"He's  got  a  real  talent,"  Martha  was  al- 
ways insisting. 

Sam  returned  to  the  sitting-room  alone. 
There  was  a  deal  of  puzzling  over  the  exact 
utilities  of  the  various  articles  in  the  outfit. 
Somebody  looked  up;  it  was  Mrs.  Brown. 

"What's  become  o'  Lem?"  she  queried. 

Just  then  the  kitchen  door  swung  open  and 
Lem,  quite  red  in  the  face,  replied:  "Here  I 
be."  He  was  pushing  before  him  a  big  and 
commodious  wheel-chair. 

"That's  what  I  wanted  to  go  to  town 
fur,"  he  said.  "I  wrote  in  and  had  it  saved 
out  for  me;  a  friend  picked  it  out.  He's  a 
storekeeper.  When  I  come  home,  I  druv 
around  the  back  way  so  's  't  nobuddy'd  see 
me.  Whaddayou  think  of  'er,  chummy?" 

Of  late  Sam  had  been  allowing  Lem  a  lit- 
tle money,  in  the  interest  of  clothes  and 
self-respect.  He  wanted  to  see  what  Lem 
would  do  with  it.  This  was  a  part  of  his 
"treatment"  in  the  process  of  reclamation. 
Now  Sam  felt  a  queer,  lumpy  -discomfort  in 
the  neighborhood  of  his  Adam's  apple,  as  if 
that  member  were  trying  violently  to  climb 
out  through  his  mouth.  He  blinked. 


Just  then  the  door  swung  open  and  Lem,  quite  red  in  the  face, 
replied:  "Here  I  be."  He  was  pushing  before  him  a  big 
and  commodious  wheel-chair.  "That's  what  I  wanted  to 
go  to  town  for" 


THE  BESTEST  CHRISTMAS  173 

Scrutiny  showed,  Sam  that  Lem  had  on 
the  same  humble  suit  of  clothes  which  he  had 
worn  on  the  day  he  quit  jail.  He  had  on  the 
same  blue  cotton  shirt,  with  its  limp  collar. 
It  dawned  upon  the  Boss  that  all  the  clothes 
Lem  had  bought  consisted  of  a  necktie  of  hot 
red,  elaborately  etched  by  machinery  with 
floral  decorations  as  modest  as  the  wall-paper 
in  a  country  hotel. 

Lem's  soul  had  waked  up,  indeed!  Be- 
hind the  popping,  expressionless  china  eyes 
dwelt  sentiment,  tenderness,  human  sym- 
pathy. Lem  had  gone  humbly  without  a 
penny  of  his  own  for  four  months,  and  then 
with  his  first  few  dollars  he  had  bought  a 
two-bit  necktie  for  himself,  and  this  princely 
offering  to  lay  upon  the  altar  of  affection. 

"Oh,  Lem,  how  could  you?"  Martha  said, 
blowing  her  nose. 

"Lookut  this,"  said  Lem,  spinning  the 
chair  about  like  a  top.  "That  there  little 
trailin'  wheel  is  swiveled,  see?  And  this 
kind  of  a  hoop  thing  on  both  wheels  is  to 
grab  with  your  hands,  so  's  't  you  can  push 
'er  'round  and  steer  'er  any  place  you  want 
to  go.  It  works  just  as  easy  —  don't  take 
no  effort  at  all." 


174  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

He  looked  about,  proud  as  a  boy;  then  he 
suddenly  picked  up  Charlie,  cushions  and 
all,  and  deposited  him  gently  in  the  new  chair. 
Charlie  was  speechless,  gazing  from  one  face 
to  another  in  a  blissful  daze. 

"Makes  that  other  old  home-made  thing 
look  like  thirty  cents,  don't  it?"  said  Sam. 

"No  it  don't,  no  it  don't,"  cried  the  little 
boy.  '  'S  no  such  a  thing.  I  ain't  never 
goin'  back  on  my  old  chair.  You  come  'ere, 
Boss;  come  'ere,  Lem." 

The  two  great  fellows  went  and  stood  awk- 
wardly by  the  little  boy.  He  reached  up  and 
laid  a  hand  on  the  coat  of  each,  clutching 
both  with  the  grip  of  a  great  affection. 

"Lem  understands,  don't  you,  Lem?  You 
don't  'xpect  me  to  go  back  on  my  old  chair, 
do  you,  Lem?" 

"You  bet  I  don't,  Charlie.  If  you'd  rather 
have  it,  I  11  take  this  new  rat  trap  and  — 

"No  you  won't.  I'm  goin'  to  keep  'em 
both,  long's  I  live,  even  when  I  get  so  I  can 
walk  good  as  anybody.  Maybe  I  11  use  the 
new  one  more,  to  get  used  to  travelin'  around. 
But  I  'm  goin'  to  sit  some  in  the  Boss's  every 
day.  It's  awful  comf 'table.  Besides,  lots  of 


THE  BESTEST  CHRISTMAS  175 

times  I  Ve  sat  in  it  and  rubbed  my  fingers  on 
the  putty  where  the  nails  was  drove  in,  and 
I  says  to  myself:  'What  did  the  hammer 
say  when  the  Boss  was  makin'  this  chair? 
Whackety-whackety,  whackety- whack?  No 
it  did  n't.  It  said:  Love-ity,  love-ity,  love-ity, 
love.'  Gee!  I 'm  a  tumble  lucky  boy.  There 
ain't  nobody  ever  comes  near  me  that  don't 
do  somethin'  nice  for  me.  I  guess  it 's  Merry 
Christmas  every  day,  all  the  year  'round  with 
me." 

He  paused  for  breath.  Into  his  cheeks  had 
crept  the  delicate  warm  pink.  His  great  eyes 
swam  and  shone,  his  aureate  curls  shook 
vigorously,  an  animated  and  genial  halo  about 
his  clear-cut  little  face. 

"Gee!"  he  said  again.  "I'm  a  tumble 
lucky  little  boy.  Three  cheers  for  Christmas ! ' ' 

Everybody  laughed;  there  had  been  a  ten- 
sion, a  constraint.  Lem's  big  white  teeth 
glistened,  his  mouth  widened,  and  the  little 
lines  of  good-humor  spread  away  up  to  his 
eyes. 

"Haw,  haw!"  he  shouted.  "Haw,  haw! 
That 's  a  good  one  —  three  cheers  for  Christ- 
mas. Hoo-raw!" 


176  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

The  laughter  waked  up  and  scared  the 
drowsy  Dick,  who  failed  to  catch  the  humor 
of  the  situation  and  howled  dismally,  only  to 
get  laughed  at  and  squeezed,  and  kissed  and 
tucked  away  with  another  warm  bottle.  It 
paid  to  be  cross,  then,  even  on  Christmas. 

"Now,  folks,"  said  Sam,  beginning  to  fidget 
and  pull  with  large,  futile  fingers  at  his  col- 
lar; "it's  gettin'  late,  and  I  ain't  sprung  my 
part  of  this  celebration  yet.  The  young-ones 
has  had  their  presents  and  some  surprises  has 
happened  —  I  got  a  word  to  say.  It 's  about 
this  Lem,  here,  and  you  other  Browns. 

"Now  Lem's  be'n  with  me  quite  some  time, 
and  I'm  gettin'  more  or  less  dependent  on 
him;  ain't  I,  Lem?" 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Lem.    "Be  you?" 

"Sure  be.  T  other  day  I  bought  a  little 
addition  to  the  farm.  That's  the  five-acre 
piece  on  the  Sheffield  road,  down  toward  the 
car  line.  That 's  a  right  good  little  house  on  it. 
Waters,  the  feller  I  bought  the  property  from, 
has  got  a  job  somewheres  else.  I  jest  won- 
dered, long's  Lem  seems  to  like  us  folks  and 
contented  with  his  job,  how  you  Browns 'd 
like  to  move  out  here  handy  to  us,  all  be 


THE   BESTEST   CHRISTMAS  177 

together,  and  set  up  housekeepin'.  This  bein' 
Christmas,  I  did  n't  know  but  if  the  idea 
pleased  ye,  I'd  give  ye  a  year's  rent.  That 
suit  you,  Lottie?  How  'bout  it,  Mary  Alice? 
Car  line 's  handy.  You  can  go  to  town  every 
day  —  " 

And  so  it  had  come  around  again,  the  little 
cottage  with  the  green  grass.  Mrs.  Brown 
had  never  dared  dream  of  it.  Two  children, 
a  home,  and  —  a  husband,  good,  clean,  in- 
dustrious; the  bitter  years  rolled  up  like  a 
dingy  and  soiled  curtain. 

Mary  Alice  visioned  back  to  that  night, 
not  so  very  long  ago,  when  some  stranger  — 
surely  not  Lem  Brown,  the  big,  homely  man 
who  had  remembered  the  crippled  Charlie 
ahead  of  his  own  needs  —  had  struck  her  a 
score  of  blows  with  a  stick  of  wood.  God 
had  a  peculiar  way  of  accomplishing  His  ends, 
but  He  certainly  got  results.  He  would  go  a 
good  way,  sometimes,  to  meet  a  person  who 
needed  His  attention.  She  had  thought  a  lot 
about  God  lately,  and  the  more  she  considered 
Him,  the  more  she  became  convinced  that  the 
sparrow  story  was  right.  There  was  nothing 
inherently  absurd  about  numbering  the  hairs 


178  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

of  one's  head.  Of  course  there  were  a  great 
many  of  them,  and  then  there  were  so  many 
people.  At  about  this  point  Mary  Alice  be- 
came a  bit  confused.  She  was  only  thirteen 
years  old,  you  know.  Easier  things  than  this 
had  set  older  heads  to  whirling.  But  through 
all  the  question  and  mist,  Mary  Alice  always 
seemed  to  see  that  delicate  face  with  its 
trusting,  confident  eyes  and  its  brave  array 
of  framing  gold.  Just  now  she  could  look  at 
Charlie  in  his  own  winsome  person,  and  to 
every  one  in  that  small  room  he  radiated 
love  and  faith  and  the  joy  of  both. 

Mary  Alice's  arm  stole  around  her  mother's 
neck,  and  one  hand  groped  out  for  the  big  paw 
of  Lem  Brown,  as  hard  and  knobby  as  the 
field  stones  he  juggled  so  earnestly,  but,  un- 
like them,  quite  warm,  and  capable  of  giving 
a  comforting  and  cheerful  squeeze. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE   EARNEST   MR.    STUBBS 

IN  the  early  spring  of  every  year  the  city 
of  Sheffield  elected  a  new  mayor  and  council. 
Under  the  law  of  the  state,  too,  the  cities  de- 
cided for  the  ensuing  year  the  question  of 
"license"  or  "no-license,"  which,  as  all  dwell- 
ers in  "local  option"  states  know,  means  the 
legalization  or  delegalization  of  the  liquor 
business. 

For  many  years  Sheffield,  an  industrial 
town,  had  voted  to  permit  liquor  selling  under 
a  system  of  high  license.  There  were  many 
saloons  in  Sheffield,  two  breweries,  and  a  dis- 
tillery. Year  by  year  the  battle  between  the 
liquor  interests  and  the  "antis"  renewed  it- 
self with  never-diminishing  bitterness.  But 
of  late  the  no-license  element  had  gained 
ground.  Now  it  appeared  that,  after  years 
of  struggle,  public  opinion  had  so  far  swung 

179 


180  LITTLE   SIR  GALAHAD 

to  the  cold-water  side  that  the  saloon-brew- 
ery-distillery faction  would  have  difficulty  in 
holding  its  majority  of  votes. 

From  the  ranks  of  the  no-license  forces  a 
leader  had  arisen,  a  young  man  with  an  in- 
cisive way  of  thinking,  a  lawyer,  whose  elo- 
quence, not  inconsiderable,  was  matched  by 
cool  judgment  and  practical  shrewdness.  He 
knew  how  to  use  the  political  weapons  of 
demonstrated  effectiveness,  and  while  he  ap- 
preciated the  sentimental  appeal  where  it 
would  count,  his  opponents  got  out  of  the 
habit  of  referring  to  him  as  a  "temperance 
crank."  He  was  astute,  resourceful,  adroit. 
Some  of  his  own  followers  were  inclined  to 
squirm  at  his  exceedingly  practical  methods, 
but  they  had  to  admit  that  he  got  results. 

Early  in  January  a  clerk  brought  to  John 
Willett's  desk  the  card  of  Amos  K.  Stubbs. 
Willett  smiled,  directed  the  clerk  to  admit 
the  caller,  and  also  to  bring  him  his  personal 
check  book. 

"Hello,  Amos,"  said  he.  "How  goes  the 
battle?" 

"Great,"  said  Stubbs. 

"Glad  to  hear  it.    Have  a  cigar?" 


THE   EARNEST   MR.   STUBBS          181 

"No,  thanks,  Mr.  Willett.  Smoking  makes 
me  so  nervous  I've  cut  it  out." 

"So  have  I,"  said  Willett,  "but  for  a  dif- 
ferent reason.  My  boy's  growing  up,  and  I 
don't  want  him  to  say  the  old  man  sets  him 
the  example." 

The  young  politician  viewed  John  Willett 
with  an  admiring  eye.  "You  certainly  are 
a  fine  man,  Mr.  Willett,"  he  said.  "I  wish 
we  had  twenty  men  in  Sheffield  like  you." 

Stubbs  spoke  from  the  heart.  He  was  ca- 
pable of  using  flattery  where  it  would  do  the 
most  good,  but  his  appreciation  of  Willett 's 
qualities  was  so  genuine  that  his  praise  came 
forth  unbidden.  Recognizing  the  young  man's 
sincerity,  Willett  felt  a  pleasant  glow  of 
gratification.  He  smiled  his  thanks,  a  trifle 
embarrassed  by  the  outspoken  compliment. 

"We've  got  'em  on  the  run,"  went  on 
Stubbs.  "They're  scared  to  death  of  us. 
Our  wagon's  just  at  the  top  of  the  hill;  a 
good  strong  push,  and  she's  nicely  over. 
That's  what  I  came  to  see  you  about." 

Willett  reached  for  his  check  book.  "How 
much  this  time,  Amos?" 

Stubbs  held  up  a  hand.     "That's  all  very 


182  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

nice,"  he  said.  "We'll  come  to  that  later. 
But  there's  something  else  much  more  im- 
portant now." 

"So?" 

"Your  money  is  just  the  same  as  any  other 
man's  money,  Mr.  Willett.  But  your  per- 
sonality is  your  own,  and  it's  your  person- 
ality we  need  to  win  this  fight." 

"But,  Stubbs,  you  know  I  never  have 
meddled  in  politics,  never  made  a  speech  or 
electioneered  or  pulled  wires  in  my  life; 
besides  —  " 

"Merely  the  knowledge  that  you  have 
voted  for  no-license  all  these  years  has  been 
of  great  value  to  us,"  said  Stubbs  eagerly. 
"How  much  more  valuable  it  will  be  if  you 
will  take  an  active  - 

"Listen,  my  dear  Amos,"  interrupted  Wil- 
lett. "Even  if  I  were  willing  to  go  into  this 
thing  personally,  I  could  n't  think  of  it.  Mrs. 
Willett  and  I  sail  for  Europe  next  week." 

"Oh,"  said  Stubbs,  abashed.  "That's  too 
bad."  He  got  up  and  began  pacing  the 
floor  restlessly.  "Couldn't  you  reconsider? 
Could  n't  you  postpone  your  trip?  It 's  most 
important,  most  important." 


THE   EARNEST   MR.   STUBBS          183 

"I'm  afraid  not,  Amos.  My  plans  have  all 
been  made.  For  a  busy  man  like  me,  it  is  n't 
easy  to  get  all  one's  affairs  into  shape  for  a 
three  months'  trip.  Mrs.  Willett  would  be 
heart-broken  if  I  changed  my  mind  now.  It 
is  n't  to  be  thought  of.  Besides,  I  'd  be  of  no 
use  to  you,  anyhow.  I  should  distinctly  re- 
fuse to  do  any  personal  work.  I'm  not  that 
sort  of  a  man.  I  can't  see  that  I  would  be 
of  any  value  to  you:  I 'm  no  speech  mak  —  " 

"You  don't  understand,"  said  Stubbs. 
"Politics  isn't  a  game  of  oratory  any  more. 
Politicians  make  speeches,  of  course;  that's  for 
effect,  for  publicity.  The  real  work  is  done 
by  more  telling  and  practical  methods.  If 
you  would  stay  home  until  after  election  —  " 

"Now,  Amos,  stop  right  there.  What's 
the  use  of  your  wasting  breath?  Let  me  — " 

"Wasting  breath!"  cried  Stubbs.  "It's 
sound  sense,  Mr.  Willett.  When  I  took  hold 
of  this  no-license  movement,  where  was  it? 
Hopelessly  distanced.  Year  after  year  the 
anti-saloon  vote  of  this  city  was  so  small  you 
had  to  hunt  for  it  with  .a  microscope.  I  've 
had  political  experience  in  all  sorts  of  cam- 
paigns, Mr.  Willett,  and  my  work  in  this  one 


184  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

is  based  on  what  I  know  about  the  machinery 
of  the  game.  I  don't  want  anything  out  of 
it.  I  '11  be  satisfied  to  see  rum  driven  out  of 
Sheffield  bag  and  baggage,  lug  and  luggage, 
because  my  father  and  my  brother  both  died 
from  it.  You  can  call  it  revenge,  if  you  want 
to;  but  let  me  tell  you,  the  fellow  who  feels 
the  blight  personally  is  the  one  that's  going 
to  form  the  backbone  of  your  fighting  forces. 
Moralizing 's  all  right,  but  it  doesn't  have 
much  force  coming  from  the  lips  of  some 
smug  chap  who  only  believes  rum  is  a  curse 
because  another  moralizer  has  told  him 
so." 

"Hold  on,"  said  John  Willett.  He  was  a 
tolerant  man.  The  vehemence  of  the  young 
reformer  excited  his  sympathy,  but  did  not 
find  logical  concurrence  in  Willett's  well- 
ordered  mind. 

"What  you  ask  is  quite  out  of  the  ques- 
tion," he  said,  kindly  and  quietly.  "Even  if 
I  were  to  be  in  this  country  during  your 
campaign,  I  could  not  go  into  politics.  So 
far  as  my  personal  attitude  goes,  it  is  and 
always  has  been  against  the  saloon  and  the 
entire  liquor  trade.  I  vote  that  way,  I 


THE   EARNEST   MR.   STUBBS          185 

shall  continue  to  vote  that  way.    I  make  no 
secret  of  my  opinion." 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  Stubbs,  picking  up  his 
hat.  "I  know  you're  a  very  conscientious 
man,  but  I  wish  your  conscience  had  a  little 
less  ego  and  a  little  more  'we-go." 

"By  which  you  mean  —  ? " 

"I  wish  that  you  had  a  little  stronger  social 
consciousness.  I  wish  you  thought  for  the 
group,  instead  of  the  individual.  I  wish  your 
conscience  embraced  the  whole  of  Sheffield, 
its  poverty,  its  wickedness,  its  suffering, 
its—" 

"Hush,  Amos,"  said  Willett,  a  little  testily. 
"I  do  my  share.  You  talk  like  a  Socialist. 
Great  heavens,  man!  You're  not  — " 

"No,"  said  Stubbs  sadly,  turning  to  go. 
"I'm  only  a  politician.  And  that  reminds 
me.  You  said  something  about  a  check." 

"For  the  campaign  fund?  Certainly, 
Amos."  Willett  wrote  busily  for  a  moment, 
then:  "Here  you  are,  my  boy,  and  God 
bless  you.  Just  to  show  there 's  no  hard 
feeling,  I've  made  it  twice  what  I  gave  you 
last  year." 

And  so  the  Willetts  sailed  away  for  the 


186  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

carefully  planned  vacation;  and  in  spite  of 
John's  check  and  others,  Amos  Stubbs  fought 
a  losing  fight,  missing  success  by  less  than  a 
hundred  votes.  It  marked  the  high  water 
of  no-license  enthusiasm,  and  the  next  year 
retrogression  set  in.  Stubbs  fought  on  for 
two  or  three  more  campaigns,  but  the  golden 
opportunity  had  passed.  So  the  courageous 
young  lawyer  went  into  another  branch  of 
work,  where  he  could  reach  individuals. 

"Maybe  the  time  isn't  ripe  in  Sheffield 
yet,"  he  said,  "but  some  day  —  well,  when 
the  tide  flows  again,  it'll  sweep  the  country." 


CHAPTER  XIV 

DOCTOR   BILLY 

THREE  days  before  the  date  set  for  the 
Willetts'  departure  for  Europe,  the  big 
Willett  touring-car  slid  up  to  the  Thomas 
home.  In  the  tonneau  with  John  Willett, 
Charlie,  peering  out  through  the  window, 
saw  a  stranger,  a  brisk  little  man  who  fol- 
lowed Mr.  Willett  into  the  house  by  the 
front  door.  The  democratic  millionaire  usu- 
ally entered  through  the  side  porch  and 
kitchen;  this  new  visitor  must  be  some  one 
of  importance. 

Charlie,  from  his  wheel-chair  in  the  sitting- 
room,  heard  the  rumble  of  voices  in  the  front 
hall,  where  Martha  had  gone  to  admit  the 
callers.  When  they  came  into  the  room,  Char- 
lie saw  that  his  mother  was  quite  pale;  she 
kept  fingering  her  apron  hem  nervously. 

"Hello,  Charlie,"  said  Mr.  Willett,  with  the 

187 


188  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

genial  friendliness  of  a  privileged  acquaint- 
ance. "How 's  tricks? " 

"Oh,  Mr.  Willett,  I'm  tumble  glad  to  see 
you.  Why  did  n't  you  come  to  my  party? 
It  was  the  beautifullest  Christmas.  Look  at 
my  drawrings.  I  made  'em  with  my  new  - 

"Just  a  minute,  chatterbox,"  interrupted 
Mr.  Willett.  "I've  brought  you  a  new 
friend.  This  is  Uncle  Billy  Jackson.  Uncle 
Billy,  meet  Mr.  Charles  B.  Thomas,  the 
well-known  artist." 

The  brisk  little  man  twinkled  at  Charlie 
through  a  pair  of  great  tortoise-shell  spec- 
tacles. He  looked  like  a  good-natured  owl. 

"How  do  you  do,  Uncle  —  Uncle  Billy," 
said  Charlie  demurely.  "Am  I  goin'  to  call 
you  Uncle  Billy?  I  guess  it  is  n't  very  polite 
for  me  to,  is  it?" 

The  new  uncle  shook  the  small  hand 
gravely,  making  a  profound  bow,  as  if  he 
were  being  introduced  to  a  person  of  very 
great  distinction. 

"I'm  pleased  to  meet  you,  sir,"  he  said. 
His  eyes  sparkled  with  merriment.  "From  a 
distinguished  artist  like  yourself,  I  consider 
it  flattery  to  be  called  'Uncle  Billy.'  I  am 


DOCTOR   BILLY  189 

making  a  collection  of  nephews;  I  should  call 
you  a  very  promising  specimen." 

Charlie  looked  a  little  doubtfully  at  the 
spectacled  stranger;  then  he  laughed,  because 
he  saw  behind  the  quizzical  eyes  a  very 
genuine  friendliness. 

"What  do  you  think  of  my  drawrings?" 
asked  the  little  boy.  "I  got  a  outfit  for 
Christmas,  a  board  and  pencils  and  all  these 
funny  rulers  and  things.  I  have  n't  learned 
the  names  of  'em  all,  or  just  what  to  do  with 
'em.  This  is  a  queer  one;  you  can  make 
'most  any  kind  of  a  bendin'  line  with  it,  but 
you  can't  make  a  circle." 

"That,"  said  Uncle  Billy,  "is  called  a 
'French  curve." 

He  sat  down  alongside  Charlie's  chair  and 
entered  into  a  discussion  concerning  the 
drawing  outfit.  Charlie  was  delighted  at  the 
apparently  bottomless  extent  of  Uncle  Billy's 
knowledge.  Mr.  Willett  and  Martha,  at  the 
other  side  of  the  room,  talkedjn  undertones. 

"He  has  done  some  most  amazing  things," 
Mr.  Willett  was  saying.  "I  don't  want  to 
raise  your  hopes  unduly,  Mrs.  Thomas. 
Jackson  may  say  that  there  is  nothing  he  can 


190  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

do.  But  if  any  man  on  earth  can  help  your 
boy,  it 's  Jackson.  He  is  passionately  fond  of 
children.  Look  at  him,  he  has  won  Charlie's 
confidence  already.  No  man  who  did  not 
love  them  could  have  been  so  successful.  He 
himself  has  the  child  heart;  he  says  he  has 
never  quite  outgrown  his  boyhood,  and  that 
is  why  he  is  able  to  understand  his  little 
patients  so  well  and  to  do  such  wonders  for 
them." 

A  big  peal  of  laughter  from  Doctor  Jackson 
and  Charlie  evidenced  the  friendly  footing 
already  established. 

"I  always  been  scared  of  doctors  that  call 
themselves  'specialists,'"  said  Martha,  "ever 
since  we  took  Charlie  to  see  Doctor  Bliss. 
He  punched  him  and  poked  him  and  bent  him. 
I  thought  he'd  kill  the  poor  child.  Charlie 
cried  and  cried  with  the  pain  and  was  sick  a 
week.  Afterward  Doctor  Bliss  said  there 
wasn't  anything  to  be  done.  He  said  he 
might  live  two  or  three  years  at  the  most; 
and  that  was  four  years  ago.  Thank  God, 
it  did  n't  come  true ;  but  it  put  such  a  dread 
into  my  heart  I've  lived  in  mortal  agony 
ever  since." 


DOCTOR   BILLY  191 

She  dabbed  at  her  eyes  furtively. 

"I  know  how  you  feel,"  said  Willett. 
"That's  what  I  brought  Doctor  Jackson 
here  for  —  to  find  out  the  exact  truth,  and 
if  it  is  not  too  late,  to  do  what  can  be 
done.  Where  is  Sam?" 

"Somewhere  out  back.  You  want  to  see 
him?" 

"I'll  go  out  and  look  around.  And  Mrs. 
Thomas,  if  I  were  you,  I  think  I  should  leave 
Doctor  Jackson  alone  with  Charlie  for  a 
while.  He'll  get  along  better." 

They  went  out  into  the  kitchen,  and  Willett 
passed  on  to  the  barn. 

"Checkers?"  said  Uncle  Billy  Jackson. 
"You  don't  tell  me  you  are  a  checker  player." 

"I  certainly  am,"  the  little  boy  assured  him. 
"I  beat  'em  all,  even  the  Boss;  he's  simply 
helpluss  when  he  plays  with  me.  He  makes 
the  foolishest  moves  and  then  gets  awful 
ashamed.  Sometimes  I  just  let  him  beat  me 
to  keep  him  from  feelin'  bad.  Would  you 
like  to  play  with  me?  I  '11  beat  you,  of  course, 
but  it'll  be  good  practice  for  you.  The 
board's  in  that  cupboard  by  the  mantle- 
piece." 


192  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

Doctor  Jackson  studied  Charlie  just  as  if, 
as  he  had  said,  Charlie  was  a  "specimen." 
His  observing  gray  eyes  missed  nothing.  He 
kept  up  a  sprightly  and  amusing  dialogue, 
all  the  while  noting  down  in  that  wonderful 
brain  every  detail  of  the  child's  personality, 
every  change  of  expression,  every  gesture. 
He  considered  the  texture  of  Charlie's  trans- 
lucent skin,  the  tone  of  his  high-pitched 
laugh,  the  delicate  pink  that  came  creeping 
into  his  cheeks. 

"You're  a  pretty  strong  young  fellow, 
are  n't  you?"  he  ventured. 

"Feel,"  said  Charlie,  flexing  the  slender 
arm  with  its  imaginary  knots  of  swelling 
muscle.  "The  Boss  says  I'm  a  reg'lar  young 
Herculuss.  I'm  a  Galahad  Knight,  too." 

"A  Galahad  Knight?" 

"Don't  you  know  about  us  fellers?"  asked 
Charlie.  "Why,  we  got  the  greatest  'socia- 
tion  in  the  world.  We  're  on  the  Quest  of  the 
Holy  Grail." 

"Tell  me  some  more,  little  Knight,"  said 
Uncle  Billy  softly. 

"Well,  the  Holy  Grail  is  a  beautiful  cup  — 
sort  of  like  the  cups  they  have  for  racin'  and 


DOCTOR   BILLY  193 

wrestlin*  and  things.  Only  it's  a  million 
times  beautifuller,  and  no  human  eye  has 
ever  seen  it.  When  Our  Lord  ate  His  Last 
Supper  with  the  disciples,  He  drank  from 
this  cup,  and  when  it  was  lost,  Sir  Galahad 
and  his  friends  went  a  tumble  long  journey 
to  find  it.  On  the  way  they  was  always  doin' 
some  act  of  kindness  or  bravery  and  helpin' 
somebody  that  was  weaker  'n  them.  And 
finally  Sir  Galahad  found  the  Grail.  He  had 
a  sword  that  was  the  sharpest  in  the  world, 
and  a  tremendous  great  big  shield  with  a 
red  cross  on  it,  and  no  man  could  stand  against 
him. 

"Well,  us  fellers  are  pledged,  just  like  Sir 
Galahad,  to  do  everythin'  to  help  and  purtect 
folks  that's  weaker 'n  us.  Our  sword  is 
Brotherly  Love,  and  our  shield  is  made  of 
Faith,  Courage,  Symp'thy,  and  Willin'ness. 
Isn't  that  splendid?" 

"Splendid,"  echoed  Uncle  Billy.  "And  the 
Grail?" 

"That,"  said  Charlie  earnestly,  "stands 
for  Perfect  Manhood.  It 's  full  of  a  dullicious 
drink,  called  Unselfishness.  Our  little  book 
of  rules  and  reg'lations  says  that  Galahad 


194  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

Knights,  strugglin'  up  the  hill  o'  Doubt,  can 
often  catch  the  sweet  odor  from  it  that  comes 
waftin'  down  the  wind  of  Discouragement, 
or  perhaps  a  few  tiny  drops  o'  the  drink  itself, 
and  it  gives  'em  heaps  of  strength  to  keep  on 
climbin'. 

"Well,  that's  what  they  call  'symbolical/ 
and  there 's  a  lot  more  that  I  don't  just  under- 
stand, though  when  I  'm  older  I  will.  Francis 
Willett  got  it  all  up,  and  his  father  and  mother 
helped  him.  He 's  an  awful  fine  feller,  Francis 
Willett  is.  It  was  him  that  got  up  the  idea  of 
givin'  me  this  dandy  drawrin*  outfit  for 
Christmas." 

Doctor  Jackson  listened  to  all  this  recital 
with  his  odd,  concentrated  gaze,  which  seemed 
to  read  each  of  the  little  boy's  thoughts  al- 
most before  they  could  be  formed  into  words. 

"You  will  need,"  he  said  suddenly,  "a 
good  pair  of  legs  to  do  all  these  wonderful, 
helpful  things." 

"Well,"  said  Charlie,  "they'll  come  in 
handy.  But  just  'cause  my  legs  are  no  good 
yet,  that 's  no  sign  I  can't  be  a  good  Galahad. 
Everybody  has  lots  o'  chances,  legs  or  no 
legs." 


DOCTOR   BILLY  195 

"Then  you  are  always  wishing  for  better 
legs?" 

"It's  stronger  'n  wishin',"  replied  Charlie. 
"It's  knowin'.  God's  fixin'  up  some  way  to 
get  some  kind  o'  starch  or  somethin*  that'll 
stiffen  'em.  I  'm  just  as  sure!  " 

"Charlie,"  said  Uncle  Billy,  "when  I  was 
a  younger  man,  and  still  studying  in  school, 
I  discovered  that  God  had  given  me  a  great 
gift.  I  found  that  many  times  when  other 
men  could  not  seem  to  see  what  was  the 
matter  with  sick  children,  I  could;  not  al- 
ways, of  course,  but  quite  often.  Then  I 
began  to  study  harder  than  ever  how  I  could 
best  use  this  gift  so  as  to  do  the  most  good 
with  it ;  and  I  found  that  there  were  hundreds 
and  hundreds  of  little  boys  and  girls  whose 
backs  and  legs  were  crooked  or  weak,  and  I 
thought:  'What  finer  work  can  I  do  than 
just  to  go  about  trying  to  straighten  little 
crooked  backs  and  strengthen  little  weak 
legs?'  So  now  I  have  done  so  much  of  such 
work  that  people  really  think  I  have  quite 
a  knack  at  it." 

"You  mean,"  said  Charlie  gravely,  "that 
you  are  a  doctor?" 


196  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

"Yes,  Charlie,  I  am  a  sort  of  doctor,  one 
called  a  specialist." 

"I  told  you  God  was  planrdn'  out  some 
way,"  cried  the  little  boy,  his  eyes  glisten- 
ing. "How  long  does  it  take,  Uncle  Billy?" 

"Let  me  tell  you  about  it,"  went  on  Uncle 
Billy.  "You  must  not  expect  too  much. 
You  must  not  be  too  sure." 

"Oh,  but  I  am  sure!"  cried  Charlie.  "I've 
waited  a  long  time,  and  I  knew  if  I  was 
patient,  it  would  happen.  I  never  worried 
about  it  a  minute,  only  just  wondered  how 


soon." 


"It  may  be  a  very  long  time." 

"That's  all  right."  The  little  boy  was  sure. 
"I've  got  heaps  of  time." 

"And  perhaps  it  will  make  you  suffer  a 
great  deal  of  pain  and  weariness." 

"I've  had  pain  and  weariness;  I  guess  I 
can  stand  a  little  more.  Sometimes  I  ache 
'most  enough  to  make  me  cry;  but  I  read  my 
Galahad  book,  or  talk  to  mummee  or  the 
Boss,  and  then  I  just  close  my  eyes  and  think 
as  hard  as  I  can  what  fun  it'll  be  when  God 
fixes  me  all  up  and  I  can  stand  the  pain  all 
right.  Sometimes  it  drives  it  right  away, 


DOCTOR  BILLY  197 

like  it  does  for  mummee  to  rub  me  at  bed- 
time." 

"Will  you  let  me  see  your  legs,  Charlie? 
I  want  to  find  out  why  it  is  you  can't  seem 
to  use  them.  I  won't  hurt  you,  dear." 

Doctor  Jackson  made  his  examination  with 
infinite  gentleness.  He  had  won  Charlie's 
confidence,  built  up  in  half  an  hour  a  fine, 
wholesome  friendship,  and  in  the  process  he 
had  diagnosed  not  only  the  child's  ailment, 
but  his  temperament.  Before  he  left  with 
Willett,  he  had  a  long  talk  with  Sam  and 
Martha. 

"In  the  first  place,"  he  said,  "I  can  say 
to  you  that  cases  like  this  have  been  cured ; 
but  I  must  also  tell  you  that  other  cases  of 
the  same  kind  have  not  yielded  to  treatment. 
It  is  up  to  you,  the  little  boy's  parents, 
whether  I  shall  undertake  the  case.  There 
will  be  considerable  expense,  constant  care, 
and  quite  a  long  process  of  building  up  his 
system  before  the  critical  step  is  taken.  I 
mean,  as  you  must  have  guessed,  a  very  rare 
and  difficult  surgical  operation.  It  is  in  that 
difficulty  that  the  danger  lies.  The  opera- 
tion is  upon  the  spine,  where  the  original 


198  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

injury  took  place.  May  I  ask  how  this 
injury  occurred?" 

Sam  looked  miserably  at  his  wife.  She 
shook  her  head  so  slightly  that  Sam  hoped 
the  doctor  did  not  detect  it. 

"Charlie  had  a  fall,"  she  said.  "A  person 
dropped  him  when  he  was  a  little  feller." 

"It  often  happens  that  way,"  said  Jackson. 
"  I  had  already  guessed  as  much.  Now  if  you 
think  you  wish  the  treatment  to  be  given, 
if  you  feel  that  you  want  to  take  the  risk,  I 
can  assure  you  that  there  is  very  good  ground 
to  hope  that  in  two  or  three  more  years  your 
boy  will  have  a  pair  of  fairly  usable  legs ;  not, 
you  understand,  perfectly  normal,  but  sound 
enough  for  a  reasonable  amount  of  locomo- 
tion. And  another  result  will  be  a  much  more 
stable  and  rugged  health  than  he  can  ever 
attain  unless  this  condition  is  relieved." 

Martha  asked  some  timorous  questions. 
With  the  divine  selfishness  of  motherhood, 
she  would  perhaps  have  clasped  her  boy  tight 
and  fought  off  the  shining  hope  of  deliverance 
if  it  cast  a  shadow  of  ill-chance. 

"Mr.  Willett,  what  do  you  think?" 

"I  do  not  want  to  advise  you,"  said  Wil- 


DOCTOR   BILLY  199 

lett.  "The  responsibility  must  be  yours;  but 
it  seems  to  me  that  if  it  were  —  were  Francis, 
I  should  not  hestitate  to  accept  the  oppor- 
tunity." 

"Le's  ask  Charlie,"  said  Sam.  "He's 
pretty  old-headed.  Besides,  he's  the  one 
that's  most  concerned."  He  led  the  way 
into  the  sitting-room  where  Charlie  sat,  con- 
templating his  newly  awakened  vision. 

"Charlie,  dear,"  said  Martha,  "did  Doctor 
Jackson  tell  you  he  might  make  you  well?" 

"He's  goin'  to,"  said  the  boy. 

11  But  did  he  say  that  —  that  the  things  he 
does  to  boys  don't  always  work?" 

"It's  goin'  to  work  with  me." 

"  Did  you  understand  that  it  is  a  long,  hard 
struggle  and  that  there  would  be  lots  of 
pain?" 

"I  understand  I  'm  goin'  to  have  a  good 
pair  o'  legs,  and  I  can  bear  the  pain  'cause 
God's  fixin'  up  a  plan  about  it,  and  if  it's 
part  o'  the  plan  for  me  to  have  pain,  all  right. 
It 's  the  legs  I  'm  after.  Say,  Boss,  let  me  ask 
you  somethin'.  S'posin'  you  was  lost  out  on 
a  prairie,  and  you  did  n't  have  any  water  for 
a  long  time,  and  your  tongue  swelled  up  and 


200  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

your  eyes  bulged  out  and  you  was  fit  to  per- 
ish. And  s'pose  somebody  come  along  and 
said:  'Boss,  here's  a  nice  cool  drink  o'  iced 
tea.  Do  you  want  it?'  And  s'pose  you  said, 
'Yes,'  and  the  feller  with  the  tea  says:  'Well, 
it  '11  cost  you  all  the  money  you  got.'  What  'd 
you  say?" 

"Cost  be  blowed!"  said  Sam  promptly. 

"What  do  I  care  for  a  little  pain?"  de- 
manded the  boy.  "What  I  'm  after 's  legs. 
I  '11  fix  it  up  with  God  about  the  pain." 

"John,"  said  Doctor^  William  Jackson,  as  the 
automobile  took  them  swiftly  between  spread- 
ing fields  of  snow  toward  Sheffield,  "do  you 
know  it  is  an  experience  like  this  that  makes 
life  worth  living  to  me?  Think  of  the  joy  of 
being  able  to  hold  out  a  little  hope  to  those 
people,  to  know  that  it  is  more  than  probable 
that  you  will  be  able  to  give  that  amazing 
cherub  the  one  thing  he  wants." 

"You  say  it  is  more  than  probable?" 

"The  percentage  of  successful  cases  is 
growing  greater.  I  purposely  showed  the  dark 
side  of  the  picture  to  those  people.  One 
must  n't  promise  too  much.  All  that  I  said 
to  them  was  true;  there  is  danger,  there  is  a 


DOCTOR   BILLY  £01 

percentage  of  failures  which  must  not  be 
ignored." 

He  looked  thoughtfully  off  across  country 
to  where  a  range  of  mountains  rose,  blue  and 
hazy  and  delicately  edged  with  gleaming  ice. 
He  was  thinking  of  "Little  Sir  Galahad,"  as 
he  called  Charlie;  and  he  was  thinking  of  his 
own  Quest,  and  the  Holy  Grail  at  the  end, 
and  the  heartening  odor  of  a  hopeful,  helpful, 
ministry  to  pain  which  came  wafting  down 
the  Hill  of  Doubt  up  which  he  climbed  so 
sturdily.  He  wondered  how  much  wealth  it 
took  to  compensate  a  business  man  like  Wil- 
lett  for  the  want  of  that  almost  fanatic  exal- 
tation which  only  the  idealist  can  know. 

And  then  it  occurred  to  him  that  perhaps 
John  Willett  did  not  realize  that  he  had  such 
a  need ;  perhaps  John  Willett  thought  himself 
an  idealist,  anyhow.  And  this  made  Doctor 
Jackson  smile,  for  he  had  known  Willett  a 
great  many  years. 


CHAPTER  XV 

THE   HOPEFUL  DAYS 

ALL  through  the  months  of  late  winter  and 
early  spring  the  process  of  "building  up" 
Charlie  Thomas  for  his  ordeal  went  on  like 
the  training  of  a  man  to  run  a  race.  There 
were  special  baths  and  a  special  diet  and 
special  forms  of  exercise  and  rubbing.  Martha 
and  Sam  carried  out  this  regimen  cheerfully 
and  with  a  pathetic  hope,  which,  if  it  burned 
like  a  candle  flame,  sometimes  wavered  and 
paled  in  the  gusty  currents  of  misgiving. 

But  to  Charlie  the  zest  of  the  process  was 
ever  renewed.  He  could  feel  the  tingle  of 
refreshed  vitality,  the  animation  of  enhanced 
health.  The  pink  flush,  once  a  sign  of  ex- 
citement, now  took  permanent  place  in  his 
cheeks,  as  a  burgeon  of  dancing  blood. 

Nobody  showed  more  vehement  interest  in 
Charlie's  preparation  than  Lem.  To  Lem 

fell  the  task  of  helping  the  little  boy  get  his 

202 


THE   HOPEFUL   DAYS  203 

daily  fill  of  outdoor  air.  It  is  simply  out  of 
the  question  to  describe  his  exultation  when 
he  found  the  importance  of  the  part  played 
in  the  "training"  process  by  his  wheel-chair. 

"Gosh!"  he  would  say;  "it's  doggone 
lucky  I  got  a  good  strong  one.  Takes  putty 
stout  wheels  to  hold  up  a  husky  like  you, 
chummy.  Look  out,  there!  Come  awful 
close  to  dumpin'  you  that  time." 

Almost  daily  Lem  pushed  Charlie  in  the 
wheel-chair  up  and  down  the  side  yard.  He 
loved  the  boy  with  a  doglike  affection  which 
he  must  admit  he  had  never  felt  for  Mary 
Alice.  He  was  proud  of  Mary  Alice  and  used 
to  wonder  how  homely  Lem  Brown  could  pos- 
sibly be  the  father  of  that  little  black-eyed 
beauty,  whose  marks  at  school  were  as  as- 
tonishingly beyond  his  comprehension  as  her 
good  looks.  Not  only  was  he  proud,  he  was 
a  little  afraid  of  her;  and  this  was  not  due  to 
any  lack  of  respect  on  her  part.  Poor  Lem 
felt  in  his  heart  that  his  daughter,  far  from 
harboring  any  resentment  for  the  old  injuries 
at  his  hands,  now  pitied  him.  He  did  not 
want  to  be  pitied  any  more.  He  worked  like 
a  horse,  earned  a  man's  pay  and  spent  it  like 


204  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

a  man.  Mrs.  Brown  did  no  more  washing, 
except  that  of  her  own  family.  Mary  Alice 
abandoned  the  armed  turret  of  commerce  for 
the  no  less  strenuous  pursuit  of  the  mysteri- 
ous "x"  and  the  elusive  "ablative  absolute." 
The  little  house  reassumed  its  place  in  the 
family  picture,  and  approaching  spring  would 
add  the  green  grass  of  Mrs.  Brown's  retro- 
spective dreams. 

Mary  Alice,  with  feminine  precocity,  hit 
no  snail's  pace  upon  the  high  road  of  learning. 
Her  letters  to  Francis  Willett  were  his  de- 
spair. 

"Why  don't  you,"  she  wrote,  "use  more 
punctuation?  Don't  they  have  any  commas  at 
St.  Michael's  Select  Preparatory  School  for  Boys  ? 
Your  spelling  is  atrosious. 

"Sir  Charlie  is  getting  along  fine.  He  is  not 
worrying  one  bit.  All  the  rest  of  us  are  real  nerv- 
ous about  him.  Dr.  Jackson  has  been  here  three 
times  since  New  Year  and  he  says  Charlie  is  gain- 
ing and  he  will  perform  the  operation  in  March. 
Oh,  I  hope  it  conies  out  all  right.  Charlie  is  the 
handsomest  little  thing.  And  let  me  tell  you  he  is 
having  a  beautiful  time  with  the  drawing  outfit. 
We  all  think  he  has  got  lots  of  talent.  Is  n't  it 
funny  how  everybody  that  knows  Charlie  seems 
to  act  like  they  owned  part  of  him? 

"Francis,  are  n't  you  proud  when  you  think  it 


THE  HOPEFUL  DAYS  205 

was  you  who  made  Charlie  a  Galahad  Knight? 
He  just  loves  your  letters.  He  can  read  them  al- 
most every  word  only  you  write  so  careless  some- 
times. I  suppose  you  are  awful  busy.  How  do 
you  like  algebra?  I  get  a  hundred  on  my  algebra 
most  every  day  and  my  teacher  says  I  am  a 
natural  mathamatician. 

"Do  you  remember  the  night  Lutey  Travers 
tipped  over  my  cart?  Just  think  that  was  the 
beginning  of  our  friendship  and  maybe  if  it  had 
not  been  for  that  you  and  I  would  n't  ever  have 
seen  Charlie  Thomas. 

"When  is  your  birthday,  Francis?  I  know 
you  are  most  fifteen.  I  was  thirteen  in  February 
and  my  mother  has  let  my  skirts  down  to  the 
tops  of  my  boots  and  I  feel  like  a  real  young  lady. 
I  am  growing  like  a  weed  she  says  and  maybe  I 
will  be  tall  and  willowy  some  day.  I  used  to  be 
such  a  little  runt.  I  guess  you  will  not  know  me 
when  you  see  me. 

"Are  there  any  Galahad  Knights  in  St.  Mi- 
chael's? I  should  think  you  would  have  them 
there,  with  so  many  boys.  I  hope  you  will  write 
to  me  if  you  have  time  but  any  how  you  must 
be  sure  to  write  to  Charlie  because  he  is  so  pleased. 
If  you  only  have  time  to  write  to  one  of  us  I  would 
rather  have  you  write  to  Charlie,  and  he  will  let 
me  read  it.  If  your  father  and  mother  send  you 
picture  post  cards  be  sure  and  save  them  to  show 
me.  They  sent  some  to  Charlie  and  he  copies 
them  on  paper.  His  drawing,  is  very  ackurate. 

"Sometimes  I  remember  you  said  you  would 
rather  work  in  a  store  than  go  to  school  and  so 


206  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

would  I,  but  my  father  and  mother  say  I  must  be 
educated.  I  do  not  know  whether  I  can  go  through 
high  school  or  not.  If  I  do  I  will  be  sixteen  and 
then  I  hope  I  can  go  back  in  the  store. 

"The  photograph  you  sent  me  of  you  in  your 
football  clothes  is  very  nice.  I  have  put  it  up  on 

my  beureau.  tta.         «  ,  .      , 

Sincerely  your  mend, 

"MARY  ALICE  BROWN." 

"Uncle  Billy,"  said  Charlie,  one  day  in 
late  February,  "when  are  you  going  to  fix 
my  legs?  I'm  awful  strong.  The  Boss  says 
I  eat  like  a  pig." 

Doctor  Jackson  patted  the  little  boy's  shiny 
curls.  "You  are  sure  you  are  all  ready?"  he 
asked.  "I  think  it  is  about  time.  What  do 
you  say  to  next  week?" 

"Oh,  goody!"  said  Charlie.  One  would 
have  thought  Uncle  Billy  had  invited  him  to 
go  on  a  picnic.  He  closed  his  eyes  raptur- 
ously. At  last  his  long  brave  period  of  wait- 
ing and  preparation  was  nearly  finished. 

Martha  overheard.  Her  heart  turned  over 
convulsively,  thumped  twice  against  her  ribs, 
righted  itself,  and  began  to  make  up  for  its 
lost  beats  by  a  violent  sprint.  So  it  was 
coming.  She  had  not  realized  it  before.  She 
began  to  tremble. 


THE   HOPEFUL   DAYS  207 

"Oh,  dear  God,"  she  murmured,  "help  me 
to  be  brave  —  as  brave  as  Charlie."  She 
went  out  to  the  side  porch  and  called  loudly 
for  Sam. 

A  conference  followed,  and  Doctor  Billy,  in 
a  hired  automobile,  drove  off,  crying  a  cheery, 
"  Good-by,  Charlie-boy.  See  you  again  soon." 

To  Martha  the  idea  of  sending  Charlie  to 
Clipper  Hill  Hospital  was  terrible.  She 
argued  the  matter  with  Sam,  who,  as  a  mat- 
ter of  judgment,  not  sentiment,  overcame  his 
inner  reluctance  to  see  his  son  taken  to 
Sheffield  for  the  operation. 

"I  want  him  here,  with  us,  where  we  can 
look  after  him,"  said  Martha.  "What  have 
they  got  at  the  hospital  that  we  have  n't?" 

"  I  'm  a-goin'  to  f oiler  Doctor  Billy's  say-so," 
rejoined  her  husband.  "He 'd  ought  to  know. 
What  'd  we  hire  him  for?  They  have  things 
there  to  do  with.  'S  far's  I  can  find  out, 
they  got  ant-i-septic  shingles  on  the  roof,  and 
even  the  coal  they  put  in  the  furnace  has  to 
be  pasture-ized,  I  guess.  They  don't  take 
no  chances.  The  doctor  says  there  is  n't  a 
finer  hospital  in  the  country;  and  by  jinks! 
that  ain't  a  mite  too  good  for  Charlie. 


208  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

Then  he  says  Charlie '11  have  two  nurses,  a 
night  and  a  day  —  " 

"Nurses!"  sniffed  Martha.  "You  s'pose 
any  nurse  can  take  better  care  of  my  boy  than 
his  own  mother?" 

"Well,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  Marthy,  and 
not  wantin'  to  hurt  your  feelin's,  I  'm  inclined 
to  think  they  can.  They're  specially  trained 
—  it's  a  business." 

"So's  mother  love  a  business,"  scolded 
Martha.  "I've  been  practisin'  that  profes- 
sion seven  years." 

Sam  slipped  his  arm  about  his  wife's 
shoulders. 

"That's  right,"  he  said,  "you  have;  and 
you  been  mighty  successful,  Marthy,  mighty 
successful.  But  this  nursin'  is  a  case  of  ex- 
perience —  a  quick  mind  and  a  steady  hand. 
Doctor  Billy  says  a  nurse  is  about  the  same 
thing  to  a  surgeon  that  an  extry  brain  would 
be." 

"Well,  then,  we'd  have  a  nurse  here." 

Sam  simply  could  n't  argue  Martha  out  of 
her  position;  so  he  said  no  more.  He  knew 
her.  Three  days  before  the  critical  date  she 
said: 


THE   HOPEFUL  DAYS  209 

"I  declare,  I  don't  want  a  strange  woman 
nosin'  around  here.  I  'd  feel  like  I  'd  got  to 
spend  half  my  time  entertainin'  her,  just  like 
company.  Besides,  I  have  n't  got  'round  to 
my  spring  cleanin',  and  this  house  is  a  sight. 
Dust  knee  deep  everywhere.  Maybe  it 
would  be  better,  after  all,  to  let  Charlie  go 
to  the  hospital." 

Sam  realized  the  effort  that  this  concession 
required.  It  was  n't  in  Martha's  nature  to 
give  in,  and  her  excuses  were  the  thinnest  sort 
of  screen  for  her  real  feelings.  She  had  con- 
vinced herself  that  Doctor  Jackson  was  right ; 
that  was  enough.  To  expect  her  to  admit  it 
would  have  been  like  expecting  Niagara  Falls 
to  turn  around  and  run  west. 

The  nearer  the  day  approached,  the  more 
eager  Charlie  became. 

"With  some  children  it  would  never  do  to 
tell,"  said  Doctor  Jackson.  "But  Charlie  is 
more  spirit  than  flesh;  he  is  mind  dominating 
matter,  as  the  Christian  Scientists  say.  I 
wonder  if  you  people  realize  what  this  has 
meant  to  him  and  to  you  all  these  years.  He 
has  the  most  buoyant  spirit  in  the  world,  he 
is  a  bundle  of  pure  optimism.  Let  me  tell 


210  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

you,  that  is  the  most  hopeful  condition  of 
all. 

"When  he  says  this  is  a  special  plan  of 
God's,  it  makes  me  feel  very  humble;  I  like 
to  think  of  myself  as  God's  instrument  of 
mercy.  Some  day  I  shall  ask  Charlie  to  pro- 
pose my  name  for  membership  in  the  Gala- 
had Knights;  for  we  physicians  are  soldiers 
seeking  a  Grail,  and  too  few  of  us  draw  much 
nearer  to  it.  But  sometimes  we  sniff  the 
fragrance  of  its  divine  contents,  and  though 
it  is  very  far  away  on  the  hilltop,  we  are 
heartened  and  cheered  to  go  on.  I  have 
heard  Charlie  say:  'I  am  the  luckiest  little 
boy  in  the  world.'  I  believe  him;  his  beauti- 
ful faith  makes  him  so.  Little  Sir  Galahad, 
dear  little  Galahad!" 

"Oh,  Doctor  Billy,"  said  Martha,  "why 
did  n't  you  ever  get  married  and  have  some 
babies  of  your  own?" 

The  physician  met  the  woman's  look 
gravely.  When  he  answered,  his  voice  was 
very  gentle. 

"In  the  providence  of  God,  some  soldiers 
fight  best  who  fight  alone.  At  times  I  think 
I  should  have  made  a  very  good  father; 


THE  HOPEFUL  DAYS  211 

they  are  all  my  babies,  the  little  ones  who 
staffer." 

Behind  the  great  tortoise-shell  spectacles 
the  gray  eyes,  steady  as  stars,  flashed  the 
message  of  the  strong  soul  behind  them. 

"Bless  your  heart,  Doctor  Billy!"  cried 
Martha. 

Sam,  fumbling  in  the  wood  box,  may  not 
have  caught  the  drift  of  the  colloquy.  But 
why  did  he  blow  his  nose,  cough,  and  rattle 
the  sticks? 

"That  pesky  Lem!"  he  grumbled.  "He 
don't  split  this  wood  half  fine  enough.  Why  n't 
he  give  us  somethin'  we  could  git  into  the 
stove  without  takin'  the  whole  top  off?" 

On  Wednesday  morning  Lem,  puttering 
about  the  barn,  kept  opening  the  little  door 
let  into  the  big  one,  poking  his  head  out,  and 
peering  down  the  road.  As  he  worked,  he 
mopped  his  brow,  bawled  at  the  "critters," 
and  displayed  other  symptoms  of  excessive 
strain.  At  length  he  grunted,  "Here  they 
be,"  and  clumped  off  to  the  house. 
i  Charlie,  radiant  with  expectancy,  cried: 

"Oh,  Lemmie,  did  you  see  'em?     I  did. 


212  LITTLE   SIR  GALAHAD 

They've  got  a  great  big  enormous  lim'sine. 
It's  most  as  big's  this  house.  Oh,  say,  Lem! 
Don't  you  wish't  you  was  me?  I'm  goin'  to 
ride  in  it  all  the  way  to  Sheffield.  Hurry  up, 
mummee;  hurry  up,  Boss.  Oh,  I  wish  Lem 
was  goin'  with  us.  Don't  you  s'pose  there 'd 
be  room?" 

"Who  's  goin'  to  stay  home  and  take  care 
of  the  house?"  demanded  Lem.  "Shucks! 
When  you  git  to  be  a  man  and  make  a  million 
dollars  drawrin'  them  pictures,  you  got  to 
buy  me  a  —  what  d'  you  call  it  —  a  limb-ma- 
chine, all  my  own." 

He  washed  his  hands  noisily  at  the  sink. 

"Look  out,  Lem,"  cried  Martha,  "you're 
sloppin'  soapy  water  all  over  my  clean  floor. 
Now  you  get  the  mop  and  wipe  that  up." 

Everybody  was  patently  struggling  to 
slacken  the  tension,  to  appear  at  ease,  to 
disguise  buzzing  nerves  with  any  awkward 
conversational  expedient  within  a  snatching 
grasp.  Martha  busied  herself  with  Charlie's 
numerous  wraps.  She  was  cloaked  and  bon- 
neted; Sam  had  on  his  heavy  overcoat.  He 
rattled^the  pump  and  filled  a  dipper  with 
water  which  he  attempted  to  drink,  and  then 


THE  HOPEFUL  DAYS  213 

spilled  into  the  waste  pipe  as  if  it  were  an 
infusion  of  wormwood. 

The  great  car  roared  into  the  yard,  and  a 
very  trim,  cool  young  woman  stepped  out. 

"I'm  Miss  Bruce, ' '  she  said.  ' ' Doctor  Jack- 
son is  ready,  and  if  you —  Oh,  is  this  the 
little  boy?  How  do  you  do,  Charlie?  How 
well  you  look!  He  has  a  splendid  color,  Mrs. 
Thomas." 

Martha  eyed  the  young  woman  with  a 
glint  of  hostility.  So  this  was  one  of  those 
efficient  people  who  knew  more  about  caring 
for  one's  baby  than  his  own  mother.  But 
something  in  Miss  Bruce's  kind  brown  eyes 
disarmed  her. 

"Oh,  please,"  she  murmured,  "you  will  take 
care  of  him,  won't  you?  He's  never  been 
away  from  me  one  night  since  he  was  born." 

"Come  on,  folks,"  said  Sam.  "Ain't  no 
need  of  standin'  here  talkin'.  Ready,  old 
sport?" 

He  bent  over  Charlie's  chair,  the  big,  home- 
made one.  Charlie  had  insisted  in  spending 
his  morning  in  it. 

"Put  your  arms  'round  my  neck,"  said 
Sam. 


214  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

"Hold  on  there,  Sam,"  cried  Lem,  spring- 
ing forward.  His  big  voice  was  husky,  his 
china  eyes  pleaded. 

"Oh,"  said  Sam;  "that's  it,  is  it?  O.K., 
Lemuel.  Mind  them  big  feet  of  yours  now." 

Lem  slid  his  great  coarse  hands  under  and 
behind  the  little  boy,  lifted  him,  pillows, 
wrappings,  and  all,  and  holding  him  close, 
tiptoed  out  to  the  limousine.  Miss  Bruce 
and  the  Thomases  followed.  Lem  set  Charlie 
tenderly  on  the  cushions,  tucked  the  robes 
about  him,  patted  his  shoulder  gingerly,  and 
backed  out  again.  The  two  women  climbed 
in,  and  Miss  Bruce  slammed  the  door.  Sam 
elected  to  ride  with  the  chauffeur. 

"I'll  be  back  in  time  to  get  your  supper, 
Lem,"  called  Martha  through  the  window. 

Lem  stood  and  watched  the  automobile 
slide  protestingly  to  the  road,  swing  its  hood 
toward  Sheffield,  and  plow  off  like  a  trans- 
atlantic liner.  He  watched  it  as  long  as  it 
remained  in  sight,  and  when  he  caught  the 
flicker  of  some  vibrant  white  thing  at  the 
window,  he  knew  it  was  Charlie's  waving 
handkerchief. 

Then  he  went  into  the  kitchen,  into  the 


THE  HOPEFUL  DAYS  215 

sitting-room,  even  into  Charlie's  bedroom. 
He  peered  about,  scratching  his  nose.  The 
sitting-room  clock  suddenly  attacked  his  ear- 
drums with  a  singsong,  melancholy  ticking, 
cleared  its  throat  hoarsely,  and  struck  twelve 
rapid,  inharmonious  notes. 

"You,  goldarn  ye!"  said  Lem.  "What  do 
you  know  about  it?" 

He  went  out  to  the  shed  and  fell  to  with  his 
axe,  hacking  fiercely  at  the  knotty  oak  fire- 
wood. There  was  some  relief  in  this  violent 
physical  toil ;  but  when  he  stopped  for  breath, 
he  stood  and  lost  himself,  gazing  absently  at 
the  block  in  which  he  had  half -buried  the 
axe-head.  A  large,  hot  tear  ran  down  his  nose 
and  splashed  on  the  back  of  the  hand  which 
grasped  the  helve. 

"What  was  it  the  doc  called  him?"  he 
muttered;  "little  Sir  Galahad?  Gosh!" 


CHAPTER  XVI 

SOME  LETTERS  AND  AN  OUTING 

DEAR  FRANCIS: 

You  did  not  write  me  since  I  wrote  you  but  I 
will  not  wait.  I  have  to  let  you  know  the  news. 
Charlie  Thomas  is  going  to  get  well.  Doctor  Jack- 
son says  so.  He  says  it  was  a  difficult  case  and 
only  for  Charlie  being  such  a  wonder  he  never 
would  have  come  through  it. 

It  happened  last  Thursday.  Wednesday  fore- 
noon they  sent  a  lovely  great  big  limasine  out  to 
Hillside  Falls  and  the  nurse,  Miss  Bruce,  went,  and 
they  took  Charlie  in  to  town  to  Clipper  Hill  Hos- 
pital. The  operation  was  next  morning,  and  now 
he  is  getting  along  fine  but  at  first  he  was  pretty 
bad,  and  we  were  all  scared  to  pieces. 

Soon  as  he  came  out  of  the  ether  he  began  to 
cry.  Then  he  asked  the  nurse  for  his  other  legs. 
She  didn't  know  what  he  meant.  "Why,"  he 
said,  "my  other  legs  that  Doctor  Billy  took 
away  when  he  put  on  my  new  ones."  You  see,  he 
was  wrong  in  hi?  head  from  the  ether. 

He  was  terrible  weak,  but  he  never  let  go  his 
grip;  Miss  Bruce  says  his  eyes  just  shone  all  the 
time,  and  lib  kept  saying  little  funny  prayers  to 
God,  and  Miss  Bruce  says  she  had  hard  times  to 

216 


SOME   LETTERS  AND  AN  OUTING    217 

keep  from  laughing,  only  she  knew  it  would  be 
wicked. 

Anyhow,  they  worked  all  right  —  the  prayers, 
I  mean  —  because  after  a  while  Charlie  began  to 
get  stronger,  and  wanted  to  be  eating  something 
or  drinking  broth  or  milk  all  the  time.  Miss 
Bruce  could  n't  understand  how  he  could  be  so 
hungry.  So  she  asked  him,  and  he  said, 

"Oh,  I'm  not  so  hungry;  I'm  only  just  trying 
to  eat  all  I  can  hold  so's  my  legs  will  hurry  up 
and  get  strong  enough  to  walk." 

I  was  up  to  see  him  yesterday  afternoon.  He 
is  awfully  pale.  He  is  all  strapped  and  bandaged, 
and  can't  move  any;  and  sometimes,  the  nurse 
says,  he  is  so  uncomfortable  that  the  pain  must 
be  frightful.  But  he  never  whimpers;  only  lies 
with  his  eyes  closed.  After  a  little  while  he  can 
sit  up  and  move  around,  and  then  he  has  got  to 
go  through  a  whole  lot  of  things  —  rubbing  and 
stretching  and  what  they  call  "flexing"  to  make 
the  muscles  develop  and  stimulate  the  nerves. 
Miss  Bruce  is  Doctor  Jackson's  special  nurse  and 
she  has  taken  care  of  lots  of  children  and  she  says 
it  will  take  months  and  months,  but  Charlie  will 
surely  be  able  to  walk  within  a  year. 

What  do  you  s'pose  the  first  thing  he  asked  me 
was  ?  He  wanted  to  know  if  I  had  written  to  you. 
He  says  for  me  to  write  and  challenge  you  to  a 
race  to  take  place  as  soon  as  he  gets  his  legs  into 
good  running  order.  And  he  wants  to  know  if 
there  are  any  fellow  Galahads  at  St.  Michael's 
and  if  so  please  ask  them  to  write  him  a  little 
letter. 


218  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

I  have  got  to  study  my  Latin  now,  so  will  close. 
How  far  have  you  got  in  Latin  ?  Please  write  to 
Charlie;  and  use  some  commas.  They  don't  cost 
anything,  even  at  a  swell  boarding  school.  Our 
teacher  says  the  town  furnishes  all  the  punctua- 
tion marks  free  so  we  must  n't  be  afraid  to  use 
them.  Anybody  would  think  they  were  awful 
stingy  up  where  you  are.  If  periods  cost  two 
dollars  apiece  the  most  expensive  thing  about 
your  last  letter  was  the  two  cent  stamp. 

Sincerely  your  friend, 
MARY  ALICE  BROWN. 

DEAR  CHARLIE, 

Mary  Alice  wrote  to  me  about  you  and  said 
would  I  please  drop  you  a  line.  I  was  glad  to  hear 
your  operation  was  a  success,  and  that  you  will 
soon  be  able  to  do  the  hundred  yard  dash  No 
there  is  no  Galahad  Knights  here  at  the  school 
but  I  belong  to  a  secret  society  called  the  Alliga- 
tors Teeth  I  would  tell  you  all  about  it  only  it 
is  a  secret,  but  I  will  show  you  my  pin  when  I 
go  home  for  Easter. 

I  played  quarter  on  the  fourth-form  football 
team  and  we  beat  the  tar  out  of  the  third,  but  the 
second  and  first  beat  us.  Well,  they  ought  to 
they  are  heaps  bigger  than  we  are. 

Mary  Alice  writes  me  all  the  time.  She  is  lots 
smarter  than  me,  or  she  thinks  she  is.  She  keeps 
telling  me  I  don't  know  how  to  spell  or  punctiate, 
but  she  spells  atroshous  atrosious  so  I  guess  she 
has  nothing  on  me.  The  boys  saw  me  reading 
her  letters  and  made  fun  of  me  for  corresponding 


SOME   LETTERS  AND  AN  OUTING     219 

with  a  girl  but  I  don't  care,  only  I  don't  let  them 
see  me  read  them  now.  You  must  not  tell  her, 
it  would  hurt  her  feelings  which  I  would  not  do 
for  the  world. 

This  is  a  fine  school.  We  go  to  chapel  every 
morning  and  Sundays  and  there  is  a  boy  choir 
and  I  sang  in  it  at  first,  but  my  voice  breaks  aw- 
fully funny,  and  it  made  the  boys  laugh  so  the 
choir  master  through  me  out.  He  says  I  have  got 
the  goslings. 

I  have  not  got  time  to  go  back  and  hunt  for 
periods  and  commas  that  I  have  left  out.  I  hope 
you  will  excuse  me  this  time.  Hoping  you  are 
gaining  fast  and  will  see  you  at  vacation. 

Your  brother  Knight, 

F.  WILLETT. 

DEAR  SIR  KNIGHT, 

Thank  you  for  yore  nice  letter.  r  I  did  not  see 
any  thing  the  mater  with  the  Punchuation  or 
speling.  I  could  read  every  word  in  It  just  as 
plain  mary  Alice  must  be  trying  to  have  Fun 
with  you,  Francus.  Well,  I  have  been  in  the 
horsepital  five  weaks  tomorow  I  am  geting  along 
grand  and  have  pains  in  my  legs  Uncle  Billy 
says  the  pains  are  because  the  muscles  are  groing 
so  hurah  for  the  pains  What  do  I  care.  Not  a 
bit  I  like  them.  I  am  sitting  up  every  day  and 
having  massarge  and  I  can  move  my  legs  around 
a  little  already 

Every  day  I  have  my  droring  board  and  things 
and  I  make  pictures  of  about  every  thing,  horses 
and  automobiles  and  I  drew  a  potrit  of  Miss 


220  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

Hammersmith,  she  is  my  night  nurse,  and  Miss 
Bruce  she  laughed  and  laughed,  and  I  guess  it 
was  kind  of  funny,  because  Miss  Hammersmith 
has  got  the  longest  nose.  Well,  I  said  give  it 
it  back  to  me  a  minute  please,  and  then  I  tore  it 
Up.  Oh  Charlie  what  did  you  distroy  it  for  Miss 
Bruce  said.  I  said  it  would  hurt  her  fealings  I 
do  not  want  her  to  see  it  I  am  a  Galahad  Knight 
and  we  don't  hurt  no  damsel's  fealings  if  We  can 
help  it.  Well  said  Miss  Bruce  you  can  make  a 
picture  of  me  and  I  promise  you  not  to  get  my 
fealings  hurt  so  I  did.  I  made  it  as  funny  as  I 
could. 

Miss  Bruce  has  got  a  turnip  nose  and  she  is 
awful  pretty  but  I  made  her  not  pretty  a  bit.  I 
said  I  guess  I  will  not  show  this  to  you  but  she 
grabbed  it  and  when  she  saw  it  she  bust  out  laugh- 
ing fit  to  kill. 

When  the  doctor  —  not  Uncle  Billy,  he  is  in 
New  York  —  when  the  doctor  came  Miss  Bruce 
left  the  picture  laying  where  he  would  be  sure  to 
see  it.  He  picked  it  up  and  I  was  watching  him 
Miss  Bruce  pretended  not  to  notice  She  was 
powdering  her  nose  in  a  little  mirrow  so  I  guess 
she  was  watching  him  too  The  minnet  he  looked 
at  the  picture  he  turned  and  glansed  at  Miss 
Bruce.  Then  he  laid  it  down  and  began  to  ask 
me  questions  how  I  felt  and  how  was  the  panes 
in  my  legs.  Of  corse  I  could  see  he  new  in  a 
minnet  it  was  a  potrit  of  Miss  Bruce  but  he  would 
not  let  on.  He  was  afraid  he  would  hurt  her  feal- 
ings. 

Who  do  you  think  it  looks  like  I  asked  him  and 


SOME  LETTERS  AND  AN   OUTING     221 

he  said  Serra  Burnhart.  I  do  not  know  who  she 
is  but  I  bet  the  doctor  was  telling  a  story.  I 
wonder  if  it  is  wrong  to  tell  a  story  to  keep  from 
making  a  person  feal  bad.  Would  you? 

Miss  Bruce  bust  out  laughing  and  said  you 
dont  need  to  deseive  us,  Doctor  Lowry,  you  know 
who  it  is  of  and  no  one  who  ever  saw  me  would 
mistake  it  I  think  it  is  Wunderfull. 

Doctor  Lowry  looked  sort  of  sheepish  It  is 
much  exajerated  he  said.  However  there  is  a 
sertain  resemblence  I  must  admit  Charlie  will 
you  do  one  of  me  Well  he  has  the  funniest  looking 
hare  and  bald  on  top  and  shiny  and  his  neck  is 
thin  like  a  chickens.  I  drew  him  just  as  easy  as 
anything 

Do  I  look  like  that  he  asked  Miss  Bruce  and  he 
pretended  to  scowl.  She  said  no  it  looks  more  like 
Cristopher  Calumbus;  and  they  both  laughed 
and  laughed. 

That  is  all  for  today.  I  am  going  home  satday. 
I  will  be  so  sorry  to  leave  Miss  Bruce  and  Miss 
Hammersmith  and  Doctor  Lowry,  they  have 
been  so  nice  to  me.  Hopping  to  see  you  soon 

Yours  truly, 
CHARLES  B.  THOMAS. 

MY  DEAR  JOHN: 

I  am  afraid  I  have  waited  until  there  is  danger 
that  my  letter  may  miss  you  to  report  to  you 
concerning  Little  Sir  Galahad.  He  is  doing  splen- 
didly. If  he  continues  to  gain  at  his  present  rate, 
he  will  be  my  record  case.  He  has  been  a  wonder- 
ful patient;  my  nurses  are  fairly  daft  about  him 


222  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

and  heart -broken  at  the  end  of  their  period  of 
service  with  him. 

His  mother  is  a  most  capable  woman,  quite  a 
remarkable  and  admirable  character,  and  ready 
to  make  any  sacrifice  for  the  boy.  I  have  grown 
very  fond  of  them  all,  they  are  such  genuine  people. 
I  can  never  thank  you  enough  for  having  brought 
me  into  their  lives. 

The  little  fellow's  fidelity  to  his  quest  for  the 
Grail  is  to  me  infinitely  fine  and  touching.  He 
tells  me  that  your  boy,  Francis,  had  something  to 
do  with  this.  I  tell  you,  John,  the  development 
of  these  rare  little  souls  is  the  vital  problem  of 
our  country. 

The  tendency  of  our  times  is  not  entirely  favor- 
able; do  you  realize  this?  We  have  formed  the 
complacent  habit  of  easy  tolerance,  and  are  every 
day  winking  at  things  which  a  generation  ago 
were  unthinkable.  People  say  that  the  world  is 
growing  better,  and  I  hope  this  is  true.  The  world 
can  grow  better  only  because  we  are  training  up 
a  better  generation  to  take  our  places  here.  If 
we  fail  in  this,  you  must  admit  that  evolution  is 
at  a  standstill. 

A  rough-and-ready  philosopher  has  said:  "Bus- 
iness is  like  aeroplaning.  To  stop  is  to  drop,  and 
to  drop  is  generally  to  bust."  This  is  true  not 
only  of  business,  but  of  all  life. 

You  will  accuse  me  of  being  like  the  spinsters 
who  dominate  the  meetings  of  the  mothers'  club. 
I  guess  I  am  a  male  old  maid.  The  other  day 
Mrs.  Thomas  asked  me  why  I  was  not  married 
and  a  father.  I  could  not,  without  apparent  ego- 


SOME   LETTERS  AND  AN   OUTING     223 

tism,  give  her  the  complete  answer.  But  you  are 
familiar  with  the^words:  "These  are  my  father, 
and  my  mother,  and  my  brethren."  The  Speaker 
might  well  have  added:  "These  are  my  wife  and 
children." 

To  some  of  us  seems  to  be  given  the  privilege 
of  sacrifice,  the  right  to  set  the  world  the  bad  ex- 
ample of  remaining  single.  We  are  called  selfish 
because  we  deny  ourselves  the  love  of  a  family 
of  our  own,  and  we  can  only  justify  our  course 
by  stretching  our  arms  out  to  the  whole  world 
and  saying:  "This  is  our  family." 

Only  to  as  close  a  friend  as  you  could  I  write 
these  things;  for  almost  anybody  else  would  see 
in  what  I  say  nothing  beyond  an  egregious  self- 
righteousness.  But  a  bachelor,  having  no  wife  to 
weary  with  his  views,  must  needs  be  something  of 
a  bore  to  his  friends. 

When  you  land  in  New  York  on  your  way 
home,  I  shall  be  at  the  dock  to  welcome  you,  and 
you  must  plan  to  stay  a  day  or  two  with  me.  If 
Mrs.  Willett  has  not  exhausted  the  shops  of 
Paris,  she  may  find  enough  pretty  things  here  to 
interest  her.  I  have  a  plan  just  crystallizing  in 
my  mind  that  may  offer  a  worthy  outlet  for  some 
of  your  surplus  income,  and  I  want  to  talk  it 
over  with  you  and  ask  your  advice. 

My  affectionate  regards  to  your  wife. 
Always  cordially  your  friend, 

WILLIAM  JACKSON. 
DEAR  MR.  WILLETT: 

In  accordance  with  your  instructions,  I  write 
to  report  upon  affairs  at  the  office.  As  a  matter 


224  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

of  fact,  there  is  hardly  anything  to  report.  Every- 
thing has  moved  quite  smoothly  since  I  wrote 
last.  The  usual  progress  is  being  made  in  the  con- 
struction of  the  new  docks.  I  followed  your  di- 
rections concerning  the  coupons  on  the  bonds 
bearing  interest  payable  April  i.  Miss  Hazard, 
of  the  accounting  department,  has  been  ill,  but 
is  now  back  at  work.  She  does  not,  however,  ex- 
pect to  stay  longer  than  November  i,  and  I  sus- 
pect that  she  is  threatened  with  matrimony.  If 
I  were  to  guess,  I  should  say  Styles  is  the  man. 

Probably  you  have  already  learned  from  files 
of  American  newspapers  that  the  no-license  cam- 
paign failed  by  a  narrow  margin.  The  saloon 
element  had  a  great  scare.  Mr.  Stubbs,  leader 
of  the  antis,  is  the  best-hated  man  in  Sheffield 
among  the  people  who  think  liquor  selling  is  nec- 
essary to  the  prosperity  of  the  city. 

The  saloon  people  did  their  best  to  win  —  or, 
perhaps,  their  worst.  I  really  think  they  might 
have  been  defeated  but  for  a  rumor  that  was  cir- 
culated that  you  yourself  were  in  sympathy  with 
them.  I  wished  that  you  were  here  to  answer  it; 
as  you  were  not,  however,  I  went  to  see  Stubbs, 
and  he  very  promptly  issued  a  statement  deny- 
ing the  story.  Your  check  for  his  campaign  fund 
bearing  his  endorsement  came  back  from  the 
bank,  and  I  turned  it  over  to  him  to  show  the 
reporters.  One  of  them  wanted  to  photograph 
it. 

Still,  I  think  there  must  have  been  a  consider- 
able number  of  people  who  were  "on  the  fence" 
and,  hearing  the  rumor  that  you  were  favorable 


SOME   LETTERS  AND  AN  OUTING     225 

to  license,  voted  for  it  because  the  denial  failed 
to  reach  them. 

Stubbs  made  a  queer  remark.  I  said  I  thought 
it  was  most  unfortunate  that  so  fair-minded  a 
man  as  you  should  be  willfully  misunderstood,  and 
he  said:  "Well,  Albert,  you  know  those  who  are 
not  for  us  are  against  us."  I  can't  think  that  he 
meant  anything;  but  if  he  did,  it  was  certainly 
most  ungracious  of  him,  considering  the  unusual 
amount  of  your  contribution. 

Francis  has  written  for  some  money  to  pay 
his  expenses  home  for  Easter,  and  although  it  is 
in  excess  of  your  instructions  regarding  his  al- 
lowance, I  don't  see  how  I  can  refuse  and  leave 
him  stranded  without  the  means  to  pay  his  fare. 

I  trust  you  have  had  a  most  enjoyable  tour  and 
that  we  shall  see  you  soon  in  your  customary  good 
health  and  spirits.  Please  remember  me  kindly 
to  Mrs.  Willett  and  say  that  little  Sue  was  de- 
lighted with  the  post  cards  from  Switzerland. 

Very  respectfully, 
ALBERT  T.  HODGE, 

Secretary. 

DEAR  MARY  ALICE, 

I  will  be  home  next  Saturday.  Mother  and 
father  arrive  from  New  York  same  day.  Tell 
Charlie  I  will  go  out  to  the  farm,  to  see  him  as 
soon  as  I  can.  Hoping  to  see  you  soon,  and  do 
you  think  I  have  put  in  enough  periods  and 
things, 

Yours  truly, 
F.  WILLETT. 


LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

The  Willett  automobile  once  more  turned 
into  the  Thomas  driveway.  The  April  sun 
had  been  feeling  unwontedly  benevolent  that 
day,  and  consequently  everybody  was  sure 
that  spring  had  come  for  good.  Charlie 
Thomas,  in  his  wheel-chair  near  the  back 
porch,  gave  a  loud  shriek  of  delight. 

"Hello,  there,"  he  shouted,  "hello,  Sir 
Knight.  I  thought  you 's  never  comin'  to  see 
me.  Mary  Alice,  Mary  Alice!  Look  who's 
here." 

Answering  the  call,  Mary  Alice  Brown  came 
dancing  out. 

"I  knew  you'd  come  this  afternoon,"  she 
said.  "Something  told  me.  That's  why  I 
came  over  here." 

"Gee!"  said  Charlie,  winking  at  the  older 
boy;  "I  thought  she  came  to  see  me.  Say, 
Francis,  look  at  this." 

"Isn't  that  splendid!"  congratulated 
young  Willett;  for  Charlie  was  kicking  both 
feet  up  and  down  with  a  degree  of  vigor. 

"Every  day  they  get  stronger.  Pretty 
soon  I'm  goin*  to  begin  tryin'  to  walk." 

Mary  Alice  was  studying  the  Galahad 
Knight  from  Clipper  Hill. 


SOME   LETTERS   AND  AN   OUTING     227 

"I  don't  know's  I  like  you  any  better  in 
those  long  trousers,"  she  said.  "You  look 
too  grown  up.  First  thing  you  know  you'll 
be  a  man;  and  won't  it  be  awful  to  be  a  man 
and  still  not  know  how  to  spell  or  punctuate?  " 

"My  spelling's  all  right,  is  n't  it,  Charlie?" 

"It's  better 'n  mine,  Francis;  Mary  Alice 
is  always  makin'  fun  of  folks.  I  can  beat  her 
playin'  checkers,  though." 

"I  don't  see's  I'm  the  only  one  that's 
growing  up,"  said  Francis.  "My  goodness! 
Isn't  Mary  Alice  tall!" 

Mary  Alice  flushed  prettily;  but  Francis 
added:  "And  skinny!" 

"You  mean,  hateful  thing,"  she  scolded. 
"I'm  glad  I'm  not  a  big  gawky  boy,  all 
hands  and  feet.  Uncle  Sam  Thomas  says 
pups  and  boys  run  mostly  to  elbows." 

"Let's  all  take  a  ride,"  suggested  Francis, 
shedding  this  verbal  attack  as  a  duck  sheds 
water.  "  Can  Charlie  go?  " 

"You  bet  I  can  go  —  if  you  don't  stay  too 
long.  Mary  Alice,  will  you  tell  mummee  and 
get  my  heavy  coat?" 

The  big  car  took  them  swiftly  through 
lovely  country  roads,  all  edged  with  tender 


228  LITTLE  SIR   GALAHAD 

new  green  leaves,  past  fields  where  farmers 
were  busy  with  plow  and  harrow,  or  where 
cattle  munched  at  the  young  grass.  In  half 
an  hour  it  climbed  hills  and  dropped  into 
valleys,  and  Charlie  knew  that  he  was,  for 
the  first  time  in  his  life,  hobnobbing  at  close 
range  with  his  old  friends  the  mountains. 

"My  gracious!"  he  rejoiced.  "When  I 
get  to  walkin',  I'm  goin'  to  climb  'way  to 
the  top.  Is  n't  it  grand !  It  seems  as  if  the 
Grail  might  be  somewheres  up  there,  don't 
it?" 

"The  Grail?"  repeated  Francis.  "Oh, 
yes,  the  Grail.  That's  right.  Say,  Charlie, 
did  I  show  you  my  secret-society  pin?" 

Mary  Alice  looked  out  the  corner  of  her 
eye  to  see  Charlie's  face.  Sure  enough,  there 
was  an  odd  question  there,  unspoken,  but  to 
Mary  Alice  perfectly  legible.  Francis  did 
not  see  it.  He  was  retailing  to  his  young 
friend  some  of  the  qualifications  necessary 
for  admission  to  the  "Alligators'  Teeth." 

"And,"  he  concluded,  "you've  got  to  be 
pretty  popular  with  the  fellows,  of  course." 

There  it  was,  Francis's  old  complacence, 
his  complete  confidence  in  himself.  All  at 


SOME   LETTERS   AND  AN   OUTING     229 

once  he  seemed  to  have  grown  out  of  Mary 
Alice's  world,  just  as  he  had  been  of  another 
world  the  night  she  had  first  seen  him. 
Thirteen-year-old  girls  do  not  philosophize 
consciously  upon  the  phenomena  of  human 
nature  and  human  growth.  But  in  her  heart 
Mary  Alice  knew  that  this  was  not  quite  the 
Francis  of  those  last-summer  days. 

Still,  he  was  as  companionable,  as  gener- 
ous as  ever,  and  delighted  because  he  was 
entertaining  and  pleasing  his  friends.  And, 
of  course,  she  could  n't  expect  a  boy  fifteen 
years  old  to  stay  on  a  level  with  a  girl  two 
years  younger,  even  if  her  spelling  and  punc- 
tuation — 

"  Come  on,"  said  Francis.  "  Let 's  get  some 
ice-cream  soda.  Jules,  drive  round  to  Tiff- 
ner's,  will  you  please?" 

They  sat  in  the  car  by  the  curb  and  reveled 
in  the  frothy  delight  of  their  big  glasses. 

"Choc'late's  tumble  nourishin',"  said 
Charlie.  "Everythin'  I  eat's  got  to  be  nour- 
ishin', so's  to  make  my  legs  grow  stout. 
Goodness,  what  a  lot  of  money,  Francis!" 

Young  Willett  paid,  out  of  a  handful  of 
silver  coins,  with  a  studied  nonchalance  that 


230  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

sat  as  easily  upon  him  as  his  stylish  hat.  His 
manner  said  quite  plainly,  "Oh,  this  is 
nothing." 

Jules  swung  the  car  into  the  street  to  make 
the  turn,  and  as  he  did  so  Charlie  caught 
sight  of  a  man  whose  locomotion  seemed  dif- 
ficult. He  hitched  along  uncertainly,  catch- 
ing with  vague,  fumbling  hands  at  the  build- 
ings. Instant  distress  and  sympathy  made 
Charlie  cry  out. 

"Oh,  look,"  he  said,  "look!  That  poor 
man's  sick,  or  —  or  his  legs  hurt,  or  some- 
thin'." 

Mary  Alice's  heart  throbbed  painfully. 
Memory  sprang  up  out  of  the  past  and  hurt 
her,  like  a  physical  blow,  and  she  shuddered. 

"Don't  look  at  him,  Charlie-boy,"  she 
cried. 

Francis  Willett  caught  sight  of  the  unfor- 
tunate, but  he  surveyed  his  tottering  efforts 
to  keep  upright  with  a  cool,  incurious  stare. 
In  the  fifteen-year-old  boy  the  sight  of  a  man 
all  but  helpless  in  the  grip  of  a  deadening 
poison  excited  no  emotion,  either  of  curiosity 
or  repugnance.  It  did  not  suggest  anything 
to  him,  awake  any  protest,  present  any  ma- 


SOME   LETTERS   AND  AN   OUTING     231 

terial  for  more  than  passing  thought.  The 
circumstance  was  so  ordinary,  so  common- 
place, so  usual  that  it  did  not  call  for  a  second 
turning  of  the  head.  To  the  innocent  Charlie 
there  was  wonder  and  a  certain  nameless 
terror  in  the  sight;  to  Mary  Alice  a  reminis- 
cence of  a  past  full  of  horror,  shame,  and 
suffering. 

Francis  called  to  Jules  that  it  was  getting 
late  and  he  'd  better  speed  up  a  little,  in  order 
to  reach  the  farm  before  dark. 

"I'm  coming  around  again  soon,"  he  said 
graciously.  "Father  says  I  can  have  the 
car  any  time  mother  is  n't  using  it.  I  'm 
awfully  glad  you're  so  much  better,  Charlie. 
You'll  soon  be  walking  as  well  as  anybody. 
Mother  says  I'm  to  ask  you  both  up  to  our 
house  to  luncheon  next  week,  before  I  go 
back  to  school.  She's  never  seen  Mary 
Alice;  and,  say,  I  —  I  take  back  what  I  said 
about  your  being  skinny.  Do  you  think  my 
feet  and  hands  are  too  big?" 

"Of  course  not,  silly,"  said  Mary  Alice. 
"It's  been  just  a  lovely  ride,  hasn't  it, 
Charlie?" 

"  Corking,"  agreed  the  little  boy.    "  Thanks 


232  LITTLE   SIR  GALAHAD 

ever  so  much.  I  have  n't  had  such  a  dandy 
time  since  —  since  Christmas." 

Sam  came  and  lifted  his  son  out  of  the  auto- 
mobile. 

"What  do  you  mean,  young  feller,"  he 
demanded  good-humoredly  of  Francis, 
"comin*  and  kid-napin'  my  boy?  How's  your 
father?  I  s'pose  he  had  a  great  time  across 
the  water." 

"You  bet,"  said  Francis.  "He  brought  me 
a  Swiss  watch  that  cost  three  hundred 
dollars." 

"I  hope  he'll  come  out  and  see  us  if  he 
gets  time,"  went  on  Sam.  "I  want  him  to 
see  my  new  creamery.  Any  germ  that  gets 
into  the  milk  on  this  farm  has  got  to  have  an 
iron  constitution,  a  set  of  burglars'  tools,  and 
a  shape  like  a  weasel.  I  got  cement  floors, 
tile  walls,  and  — " 

"A  concrete  head,"  said  a  hearty  voice 
from  the  kitchen  door.  It  was  Martha. 
Everybody  laughed. 

"When  you  get  to  be  a  man,  Francis, 
don't  you  never  get  married,"  said  Sam. 
"Look  how  henpecked  I  be." 

"Stay  to  supper,  Francis?"  asked  Martha. 


SOME   LETTERS   AND  AN   OUTING     233 

"We  got  beans  to-night.  We'd  love  to  have 
you,  'specially  after  giving  the  children  a  ride 
this  beautiful  day.  I  don't  s'pose  you  have 
anything  as  common's  baked  beans  to  your 
house." 

Martha  could  n't  help  it;  there  was  always 
that  vague  protest  of  her  status  in  the  back 
of  her  consciousness.  Francis  laughed  easily. 

"If  father  did  n't  get  his  baked  beans  once 
a  week,  he'd  holler  so  loud  you  could  hear 
him  'way  out  in  Hillside  Falls.  I  wish  I 
could  stay;  but  mother 'd  worry.  I  guess 
I've  got  just  time  enough  to  get  home  for 
supper." 

"I  thought  you  folks  called  it  dinner,"  said 
Martha. 

"Mother  does;  father  and  I  call  it  supper. 
All  right,  Jules.  Good  night,  folks.  See  you 
again  soon." 

Charlie  was  very  thoughtful  at  bedtime. 

"What's  on  your  mind,  dearie?"  asked 
his  mother. 

"Oh,  nothin'.  I  was  just  wonderin*  if 
I'd  ever  outgrow  bein'  a  Galahad  Knight." 
He  set  his  small  jaw.  "I  bet  I  never  do, 
though." 


234  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

"I  declare,"  said  Martha,  "you're  grow- 
ing to  look  more  like  your  father  every 
day." 

"That's  nice,"  said  Charlie. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

AFTER   SIX   YEARS 

A  BROAD  flight  of  flat  steps  led  up  and  up 
to  the  wide-flung  portals  of  Minot  House. 
Ascending  these  you  unconsciously  elevated 
your  chin,  for  as  you  climbed,  the  great 
columns  of  that  stately  porch  held  your  eye. 
Minot  House  was  the  Parthenon  where  a 
thousand  devotees  made  obeisance  to  all 
the  gods  of  Education. 

Minot  was  dead,  and  lived  again  in  the 
spirit  which  pervaded  the  House  of  his 
splendid  endowment.  Minot,  born  poor, 
lived  and  died  to  enrich  Sheffield  with  the 
magnificence  of  his  Idea,  rearing  a  free  uni- 
versity for  the  people,  a  temple  to  the  spirit 
of  Helpfulness  and  Self-reliance. 

Down  the  echoing  corridors  of  Minot 
House  sounded  the  footsteps  of  the  Seekers. 
The  feet  might  falter  with  age  or  quicken 
with  the  high  courage  of  youth;  they  might 

235 


236  LITTLE   SIR  GALAHAD 

wear  flat  heels  or  high;  they  might  display 
the  rust  of  poverty  or  shine  with  the  gloss  of 
opulence.  It  was  all  the  same  to  Minot. 

Your  college  instructor  must  scintillate  on 
a  salary  that  excites  the  scorn  of  a  well- 
trained  stenographer.  Minot's  instructors 
drew  pay  gauged  to  their  several  efficiencies. 
The  first  requisite  of  admission  to  the  Minot 
House  faculty  was  the  love  of  teaching;  this 
satisfied,  the  love  of  teaching  ceased  to  be 
its  only  reward.  Thousands  of  first-rate 
teachers  can't  afford  to  teach,  but  the  Minot 
instructor  soon  found  that  he  could  n't  af- 
ford not  to. 

Consequently,  if  you  could  not  learn  a 
thing  at  Minot  House,  it  was  because  you 
were  unteachable.  But  the  pupils  were  of  a 
high  order  of  teachability,  since  they  went 
there  with  one  idea  —  to  learn.  No  social 
distinction  attached  to  the  student  at  Minot 
House,  and  if  you  fancied  such  a  distinction 
before  you  entered,  you  dropped  the  notion 
promptly  or  Minot  House  dropped  you. 
However,  when  you  graduated,  you  found 
yourself  in  possession  of  the  more  profit- 
able distinction  of  Efficiency. 


AFTER   SIX   YEARS  237 

Minot  House  was  a  citizen  factory:  it 
worked  two  shifts.  Long  after  other  indus- 
tries closed  their  eyes  for  the  night,  lights 
blazed  from  the  windows  of  Minot  House. 
Only  one  type  of  enterprise  vied  with  it  in 
the  matter  of  business  hours,  and  that  was, 
oddly  enough,  the  saloon,  whose  function 
was  to  destroy,  while  Minot  House  produced, 
citizens.  It  should  be  said  that  the  Minot 
product  offered  poor  pickings  for  that  sort  of 
competition. 

Up  the  flight  of  broad,  flat  steps  now 
climbed  a  boy;  a  boy  with  a  face  eager  and 
alert,  and  a  quantity  of  blonde  hair  that 
waved  and  twisted  all  over  his  head  in  in- 
subordinate curls.  It  clustered  about  his 
fine  broad  forehead  and  formed  adorable 
little  ducktails  around  his  ears  and  on  his 
neck.  It  was  a  trifle  longer  than  a  becoming 
length  to  most  boys;  but  it  eminently  became 
this  one. 

He  walked  with  an  odd,  slightly  uneven 
gait,  which  seemed  to  you  at  first  to  require 
conscious  effort,  but  which  you  presently  dis- 
covered to  be  as  effective  a  means  of  loco- 
motion as  the  average.  His  feet  were  smaller 


238  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

than  common  for  a  boy  of  his  age,  and  his 
legs  noticeably  slender.  But  he  could  walk, 
easily  and  rapidly.  As  he  was  between 
thirteen  and  fourteen  years  old,  there  was 
no  reason  to  doubt  that,  with  his  general 
growth,  his  legs  would  more  and  more  ap- 
proach the  normal. 

John  Willett  had  said  to  Sam  Thomas: 
"Would  you  like  to  send  Charlie  to  college? 
Don't  hesitate,  if  I  can  ever  serve  you." 

"He's  too  young  yet  awhile  to  talk  about 
it,"  replied  Sam.  "Maybe,  by  the  time  he's 
old  enough  to  think  of  that,  I'll  be  pros- 
perous enough  to  put  him  through  without 
borrowin'  a  dollar." 

It  was  at  about  this  time  that  Minot  died. 
Who  or  what  Minot  was  does  not  concern 
this  story,  beyond  the  facts  already  set  forth. 
By  the  time  Charlie  had  crystallized  his  am- 
bition, Minot  House  was  an  established  in- 
stitution, equipped  to  help  him  fulfill  it. 

Charlie's  legs  were  the  only  limping  thing 
about  him.  His  brain  cantered,  to  say  the 
least,  where  most  brains  plodded.  And  he 
had  developed  an  astonishing  and  catholic 
dexterity.  This  had  become  emphasized  from 


AFTER   SIX   YEARS  239 

the  time  he  had  begun  to  play  with  the  new 
drawing  outfit,  on  a  memorable  Christmas 
night. 

Every  day  of  his  life  from  that  time  he 
had  drawn  and  drawn  and  drawn.  The 
weird  results  of  first  attempts  gave  place  to 
work  that  showed  the  promise  of  the  future. 
His  perspective  was  masterfully  distorted, 
his  chiaroscuro  a  patchwork  of  tangled  shad- 
ows; but  here  and  there,  in  a  face,  in  the  poise 
of  a  head,  or  in  the  grace  and  truth  of  gesture 
even  of  some  crude  caricature,  there  was  a 
flash  of  talent  almost  blinding  in  its  revelation. 

You  will  remember  Charlie's  letter  to 
Francis  Willett,  in  which  he  recounted  the 
amusement  created  by  his  "potrits"  of  doctor 
and  nurses.  The  boy  was  destined  to  look 
back  at  those  first  attempts  at  portraiture  and 
marvel  at  their  significance.  His  drawing  of 
Miss  Hammersmith  had  hinted  at  a  charac- 
teristic of  what  was  some  day  to  be  known 
as  "the  Art  of  Charles  Brushly  Thomas," 
which  has  far  more  to  do  with  the  course  of 
this  story  than  Miss  Hammersmith  herself. 

Miss  Bruce  had  laughed  immoderately  at 
the  picture.  Charlie  took  a  second  look  and 


240  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

0 

tore  it  up.  Not  for  the  world  would  he  have 
had  Miss  Hammersmith  see  it;  and  he  had 
steadfastly  refused  to  make  another  delinea- 
tion of  the  same  young  woman. 

This  drawing  was  not  a  particle  more  ridic- 
ulous or  grotesque  than  those  he  soon  after 
made  of  Miss  Bruce  and  the  doctor.  He 
did  not  hesitate  to  exhibit  these,  and  the 
chagrin  of  their  subjects  had  tickled  him 
immensely.  But  why  had  he  torn  up  Miss 
Hammersmith's  ? 

Suppose  you  knew  a  person  with  a  dis- 
tressing facial  blemish  who  had  lived  to 
maturity  without  having  surveyed  his  own 
features?  Would  you  willingly  hold  up  a 
mirror  to  that  person?  Would  you  undertake 
the  responsibility  of  revealing  what  he  really 
looked  like? 

Charlie  Thomas's  drawing  of  Miss  Ham- 
mersmith was  funny  and  absurd,  of  course; 
but  in  the  brain  that  directed  the  fingers 
upon  the  pencil  dwelt  the  deep-hidden  power 
of  apprehension,  so  subtle  and  so  delicate 
that  for  many  years  the  boy  did  not  know  it 
was  there. 

Charlie  Thomas  possessed  no  keener  char- 


AFTER   SIX   YEARS  241 

acter-reading  faculty  than  you  or  I  —  until 
he  got  a  pencil  in  his  hand.  Then  his  fingers 
told  what  his  tongue  could  not  utter.  That 
was  why  he  tore  up  Miss  Hammersmith's 
portrait.  He  loved  Miss  Hammersmith,  and 
not  for  the  world  would  he  hold  up  the  mirror. 
He  heard  afterward  that  the  poor  girl  fell 
into  serious  trouble  through  her  inability  to 
distinguish  between  what  was  hers  and  what 
belonged  to  a  certain  department  store,  and 
the  news  grieved  him  beyond  telling. 

The  revelations  contained  in  the  boy's 
crude  sketches  of  people  were  so  startling 
that  he  grew  to  dread  them.  He  wanted  to 
like  everybody,  to  confide  in  everybody,  to 
believe  the  best  of  everybody. 

He  would  take  up  a  current  magazine  and, 
finding  in  it  the  portrait  of  some  man  in  the 
public  eye,  would  swiftly  copy  it  in  a  few 
strokes.  The  results  were  striking,  and 
often  totally  unexpected.  If  you  took  a 
series  of  these  little  sketches  and  wrote  under 
each  the  suggested  attribute  in  the  features, 
you  would  write  such  words  as  these: 

Against  the  name  of  a  great  philanthro- 
pist, "Egotism." 


242  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

Against  that  of  a  man  whose  reputation 
for  political  adroitness  had  become  nation 
wide,  "Benevolence." 

Against  that  of  a  great  captain  of  industry, 
"Innocence." 

Against  that  of  a  certain  little  man  who 
for  twenty  years  had  worked  humbly  among 
his  brethren  of  the  slums,  "Courage." 

Sometimes  you  could  forecast  what  the 
suggestion  in  the  drawing  would  be,  but  of- 
tener  it  would  be  quite  contrary  to  your 
expectation.  Charlie  himself  could  foretell  no 
more  than  could  the  person  at  his  elbow  what 
verdict  the  pencil  would  render.  He  preferred 
not  to  make  so  hazardous  a  test,  yet  there 
was  always  an  uncanny  fascination  in  the 
experiment  when  his  friends  and  acquaint- 
ances formed  the  subjects.  He  came  to 
shrink  from  this  adventurous  portraiture 
and  drove  his  pencil  to  other  ends. 

Charlie  entered  Minot  House  when  he  was 
thirteen.  Sam  took  him  there  one  morning  in 
early  fall.  For  a  long  time  they  waited  in  the 
anteroom  of  the  superintendent.  When  that  of- 
ficial saw  Charlie,  his  face  beamed  with  delight. 
Here  was  a  boy  worth  educating,  indeed. 


AFTER   SIX   YEARS  243 

"This  little  feller,"  began  Sam,  "wants  to 
learn  to  be  an  artist.  We  think  he's  got 
talent." 

In  the  past  fortnight  the  superintendent 
had  heard  this  same  speech,  with  the  varia- 
tion of  but  a  word,  something  more  than  a 
thousand  times.  "This  little  boy  wants  to 
build  railroads."  "This  little  girl  would  like 
to  have  you  make  her  a  prima  donna,  please." 
"How  long  will  it  take  you  to  make  Willie 
President  of  the  United  States?"  The  super- 
intendent held  himself  in  readiness  to  be 
surprised  at  no  demand  upon  the  capacities  for 
education  at  Minot  House. 

"Can  he  spell?"  he  asked,  eyeing  Charlie 
obliquely  while  he  addressed  his  question  to 
Sam. 

"Why,  yes,  yes,  I  guesso,"  answered  Sam, 
a  little  bewildered. 

"  How  is  his  health?    Is  he  pretty  rugged?  " 

"His  health's  all  right;  he's  had  trouble 
with  his  legs,  but  he  's  getting  well.  Doctor 
Jackson  — " 

"Doctor  Billy  Jackson?  I  know  him 
well.  You  are  a  patient  of  his,  then,  my 
boy?" 


244  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

"He's  collectin'  nephews,"  said  Charlie. 
"I'm.  one  of  his  specimens." 

The  superintendent  laughed. 

"I  will  tell  you,  Mr.  —  did  I  catch  your 
name?  Thomas?  I  will  tell  you,  Mr.  Thomas. 
Here  at  Minot  House  we  don't  start  out  with 
a  boy  or  a  girl  on  the  theory  that  he  or  she 
has  what  you  call  'talent';  that  remains  to 
be  seen.  Sometimes  parents  are  altogether 
mistaken  in  this  matter  of  natural  aptitude. 
If  you  want  this  young  man  to  go  to  school 
to  us  for  a  year,  we  will  tell  you  at  the  end  of 
that  time  whether  he  has  the  talent  you 
now  believe,  if  he  has  it  in  a  degree  which  will 
make  it  profitable  to  develop.  You  can't 
tell  —  perhaps  he  has  another  talent  you 
have  overlooked." 

It  surprised  Sam  to  learn  that  the  faculty 
of  Minot  House  thought  it  necessary  to  teach 
a  person  Latin  and  Greek  and  familiarize 
him  with  the  sagas  of  Iceland  in  the  process 
of  finding  out  whether  a  boy  could  be  taught 
to  draw  a  picture  of  Our  Hero  making  love 
to  Our  Heroine  under  the  Gnarled  Oak  in 
Father's  Pasture  Lot.  But  he  calculated 
that  they  knew  more  about  it  than  he  did; 


AFTER  SIX  YEARS  245 

maybe  it  was  like  the  course  of  physical 
training  Doctor  Billy  had  put  Charlie 
through  before  the  operation  that  had  given 
him  his  now  quite  useful  pair  of  legs.  Sam 
was  content  to  let  experts  know  their  own 
business. 

And  so  Charlie  became  a  Minot  House  boy. 
Daily,  with  his  happy  face  glowing  with  the 
zest  of  life  in  its  frame  of  blonde  curls  and 
his  odd,  deceptively  hesitant  gait,  he  trod 
the  academic  path.  He  made  little  difficulty 
with  the  studies  outlined  for  him,  but  he  was 
utterly  blissful  only  when  he  worked  in  one 
of  the  great  skylighted  studios,  learning  the 
rudiments  of  art  by  means  of  the  cube,  the 
cylinder,  and  the  "block  hand"  with  its 
flat  planes  of  light  and  shadow. 

The  life  of  Minot  House  got  into  this  boy's 
blood.  Of  all  the  pupils,  whose  ages  ranged 
from  his  own  to  that  of  the  average  person 
at  college  graduation,  not  one  lacked  the  in- 
centive of  a  definite  goal. 

"Mary  Alice,"  he  would  say,  "at  Minot 
House  everybody's  a  kind  of  Galahad 
Knight.  They  don't  all  know  it,  but  they're 
all  on  a  quest  of  the  Grail.  Maybe  it  is  n't 


246  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

the  same  Grail  for  everybody,  but  I  guess  it 
amounts  to  the  same  thing." 

"Charlie,  you're  a  wonder,"  said  Mary 
Alice.  "I  never  saw  such  an  old-headed 
child!" 

Mary  Alice  was  nineteen.  She  had  been 
through  high  school  and  thought  her  edu- 
cation was  complete.  She  was  back  in  "the 
gloves"  at  Stacey's.  Minnie  and  Sadie  and 
Grace  had  long  since  gone  the  uncharted  ways 
of  matrimony.  Mary  Alice  used  to  look  up 
at  the  freckled  little  face  in  the  armed  turret, 
where  she  herself  had  formerly  done  up 
packages  and  "tubed"  the  sales  slips  and 
money,  and  wonder  in  what  other  ways  the 
bundle  girl's  life  paralleled  her  own. 

The  six  years  which  had  made  a  poised 
young  woman  out  of  the  little  girl  whom 
Francis  Willett  had  called  "skinny"  had 
certainly  robbed  her  of  no  fraction  of  her 
good  looks.  Lem  Brown  stood  more  in  awe 
of  his  handsome  daughter  than  ever.  You 
could  n't  imagine  Mary  Alice  hauling  a 
cartload  of  washing  up  Clipper  Hill,  and  Lem 
could  n't  imagine  himself  issuing  any  orders 
that  she  was  in  the  least  bound  to  respect; 


AFTER  SIX  YEARS  247 

and  yet  he  had  never,  since  the  days  of  his 
rehabilitation,  expressed  a  wish  which  she 
had  not  met  promptly  and  cheerfully. 

Lem  was  and  always  would  be  a  private 
soldier,  and  a  good  one.  He  never  would 
be'  an  officer  in  any  kind  of  army.  He  had 
taken  orders  from  Sam  Thomas  since  the 
very  beginning  of  their  relation,  which  was 
still  that  of  man  and  master. 

Lem  knew  as  much  about  Sam's  business 
of  dairying  as  the  Boss.  Sometimes  Sam 
would  compliment  Lem  by  telling  him  he 
sure  could  n't  get  along  without  him.  And 
Lem  would  always  answer:  "Oh,  I  don't 
know.  I  guess  you  could." 

He  was  a  glutton  for  work.  He  saved 
Sam  the  necessity  of  hiring  extra  help, 
except  at  harvest  time;  and  Sam  was  just. 
He  paid  Lem,  not  on  a  day-labor  basis,  but 
in  proportion  to  his  own  prosperity.  The 
little  white  house  had  not  only  plenty  of 
green  grass;  it  had  flowers  in  beds,  rioting  in 
old-fashioned  profusion,  and  carefully  tended 
vines  that  flamed  with  color  in  season.  Lem 
had  money  in  the  bank. 

Sometimes    Sam    would    walk    out    on    a 


248  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

Sunday  afternoon  and  stand  on  top  of  the 
rocky  knoll  in  the  old  pasture  lot.  He  would 
survey  his  well-tilled  acres  with  a  soothing 
satisfaction ;  then  his  eye  strayed  along  toward 
the  five-acre  corner  piece,  where  stood  the 
Brown  cottage,  which  Lem  had  bought  and 
nearly  paid  for.  In  another  two  years  Lem's 
title  would  be  all  free  and  clear.  Sam  could 
see  little  Dick  Brown  sitting  on  the  back 
porch  with  his  father. 

"I  did  that,"  Sam  would  say  to  himself, 
"Marthy  and  Charlie  and  me.  We  took 
that  lump  o'  mud  and  made  a  man  out  of  it. 
If  I  never  do  another  thing's  long  as  I  live, 
I  guess  nobody  can  say  I  have  n't  helped  this 
old  world  a  little.  Lordy !  Was  n't  Lem  a 
mess  them  first  three  or  four  months!  Love 
and  a  square-toed  boot  —  that 's  a  winnin' 
combination,  all  right." 

Then  his  eye  would  swing  off  toward  Shef- 
field, where  the  lazy  vapors  of  banked  fires 
lay  drifting  over  the  city. 

"There's  only  two  things  in  that  town  I 
got  any  real  respect  for,"  said  Sam  to  Martha 
one  day.  "That's  the  Clipper  Hill  Hos- 
pital and  Minot  House.  Sheffield 's  a  fine 


AFTER  SIX  YEARS  249 

city,  they  say.  I  hear  that  even  in  New  York 
there  ain't  a  handsomer  hotel  than  the 
Waldemere.  But  last  time  I  was  in  the  city 
I  walked  past  the  hotel,  and  just  as  I  got 
opposite  them  doors  that  spin  around  like 
a  windmill,  out  comes  three  young  fellers  — 
nice  lookin'  boys  as  you  ever  saw  —  and  every 
one  of  'em's  foolish  with  drink.  They  gig- 
gled and  tee-heed  and  skylarked  like  a  passel 
o'  girls,  bumped  into  folks,  and  had  every- 
body lookin'  at  'em.  Some  people  laughed, 
and  one  old  feller  says:  'Oh,  well,  boys '11  be 
boys,  I  s'pose,'  just  as  if  them  actions  was 
necessary  to  a  proper  upbringin*.  I  says  to 
him:  'I  guess  they  will;  and  likewise,  boys '11 
be  men.  The  question  is,  what  kind  of  men 
will  they  be?'  The  old  feller  looked  at  me's 
if  I  was  somethin'  escaped.  I  felt  sorter 
sheepish,  preachin*  to  a  stranger  like  a  parson 
in  a  pulpit.  So  I  walked  off.  I  don't  care, 
though,  maybe  I  set  him  thinkin'. 

"Right  'round  the  corner  from  Minot 
House  is  Calvert  Street  and  the  beginnin' 
of  the  Devil's  Truck  Patch.  Ain't  it  the 
strangest  thing  them  two  can  exist  in  the 
same  town?  The  people  of  Sheffield  went 


250  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

crazy  when  the  Waldemere  was  built.  Even 
John  Willett  put  a  lot  of  money  into  the 
company;  he's  a  big  stockholder,  I  hear. 
'Oh/  says  everybody,  'it's  a  grand  thing  for 
Sheffield  to  have  the  handsomest  hotel  in 
the  country. 

"Then  old  Minot  founded  Minot  House. 
All  the  people  got  up  again  and  cheered  and 
patted  each  other  on  the  back  and  says: 
'Oh,  ain't  it  grand  for  Sheffield  to  have  the 
most  wonderful  free  inst'ution  of  learnin'  in 
the  country!' 

"And  t'  other  night,  when  I  was  comin' 
out  in  the  trolley,  a  feller  sittin'  next  to  me 
was  talkin'  to  another  man,  and  he  says: 
'Why,  we  got  a  tougher  district  right  in 
Sheffield  than  they  have  in  New  York  or 
Chicago;  we  call  it  the  Devil's  Truck  Patch, 
and  every  third  door  is  a  saloon.'  He  spoke 
in  just  exactly  the  same  proud,  braggin' 
tone  of  voice  he'd  have  used  to  describe  the 
new  city  hall  or  Minot  House.  He  lumped 
'em  all  in  the  same  catalogue  of  distinguishin' 
features  that  make  Sheffield  some  town." 

"There's  one  other  place  in  Sheffield  I've 
got  respect  for  besides  those  you  mentioned," 


AFTER  SIX  YEARS  251 

said  Martha,  "and  that's  Stacey's.  I  wish 
you'd  give  me  about  five  dollars;  I'm  going 
to  town  to-morrow,  shopping.  You  and 
Charlie  both  need  some  new  shirts;  I  declare 
I  don't  know  whether  it's  cheaper  to  make 
'em  or  buy  'em." 


"BOYS  will  be  boys!" 

They  will  also  be  fools,  was  John  Willett's 
thought  on  the  day  he  got  the  letter  from  the 
dean.  In  every  relation  of  life  Willett  had 
been  successful,  according  to  the  standards 
of  Sheffield;  and  the  standards  of  Sheffield 
were  pretty  much  those  of  the  entire  country. 
Sometimes  he  had  suffered  reverses,  but  they 
had  been  temporary;  disappointments,  but 
they  had  not  persisted.  One  need  not  be 
surprised  at  the  man's  superabundant  con- 
fidence in  himself,  since  it  had  been  so 
thoroughly  justified  year  after  year. 

A  blow  at  his  pride  affected  Willett  men- 
tally as  a  blow  at  his  solar  plexus  would  have 
affected  him  bodily.  He  crumpled.  Hodge, 
his  secretary,  entering  with  a  wire  basket  of 
papers,  came  up  all  standing  and  exclaimed: 

252 


A  LETTER  FROM  THE  DEAN         253 

"Why,   Mr.   Willett!     What's  the  trouble? 
You  are  n't  ill!" 

Willett  held  out  the  letter  to  Hodge,  but,  as 
the  secretary  would  have  taken  it,  drew  it  back. 

"No,  no,"  he  said.  "Never  mind;  it's  — 
nothing.  A  little  surprise,  that's  all." 
,  He  sat  alone  for  a  long  fifteen  minutes 
after  Hodge  had  retired,  reading  and;  re- 
reading the  letter  and  trying  to  think.  This 
was  unbelievable;  there  was  a  mistake  some- 
where. It  could  n't  be  his  boy. 

He  went  swiftly  over  the  past  six  years  in 
Francis's  life.  The  boy  had  seemed  to  do 
well  at  school  and  afterward  at  college. 
Now  he  was  a  senior,  twenty-one  years  old, 
at  least  twelve  months  below  the  usual  age 
at  graduation.  He  considered  Francis  quite 
precocious  and  had  never  ceased  to  be  proud 
of  him.  Francis  had  always  been  Willett 's 
"beautiful  boy." 

Of  course  he  had  been  obliged,  for  Francis's 
sake,  to  deny  himself  many  months  of  his 
son's  society  and  comradeship  each  year. 
He  had  tried  to  make  it  up  during  the  sum- 
mers, planning  his  own  vacations  so  as  to 
have  them  fall  with  Francis's  leisure  days. 


254  LITTLE   SIR  GALAHAD 

Willett  had  found  that  this  was  not  always 
easy,  for  the  boy  had  other  friends  now,  who 
claimed  him  for  visits  and  journeys.  But 
there  had  been  two  golden  tours  in  Europe 
with  Mrs.  Willett  and  the  boy;  there  had 
been  a  hunting  trip  in  Canada;  there  had 
been  the  delightful  two  months  spent  at 
Stacey's  mountain  camp  in  Idaho. 

If  John  Willett  and  his  son  had  drifted 
away  from  each  other  —  and  John  had  to 
admit  that  in  spite  of  it  all  this  was  measur- 
ably the  case  —  the  man  argued  that  one 
must  expect  it.  A  boy  can't  be  kept  tied  to 
his  parents'  front  porch.  Willett  had  many 
a  time  looked  back  to  that  farewell  talk  with 
Francis  on  the  eve  of  the  latter's  departure 
for  St.  Michael's.  He  had  been  confident 
that  his  son  had  profited  by  the  talk.  There 
had  been  others,  too;  and  John  had  felt  each 
time  that  he  was  probing  the  depths  of  his 
boy's  nature,  touching  him  vitally  with  the 
right  influence. 

Once  or  twice  Francis  had  got  out  over 
his  head  in  money  matters.  His  father,  pro- 
testing mildly,  had  paid  the  few  hundred 
dollars  required  to  satisfy  the  demands  of 


A  LETTER  FROM  THE  DEAN         255 

tailors  and  shoemakers,  perhaps  too  freely 
patronized.  They  were  always  pestering 
college  fellows  to  buy  more,  and  John  knew 
how  easy  it  was  to  allow  one's  sartorial 
pride  to  get  the  better  of  one.  There  was 
no  fundamental  harm  in  wanting  to  wear  good 
clothes.  He  remembered  how  fine  Francis 
had  looked  on  his  last  visit  home  —  a  boy 
to  be  proud  of  —  or,  rather,  a  man.  And  in 
less  than  a  year,  now,  he  had  expected  his 
son  to  come  home  and  enter  his  own  office. 
There  was  plenty  of  work  to  make  an  ambi- 
tious young  fellow  interestedly  active. 

But  this  letter  from  the  dean!  A  few 
succinctly  worded  lines  on  a  dignified  letter- 
head, bearing  the  seal  of  the  college,  had 
swept  away  from  the  painstaking  structure 
of  years  the  very  foundation  of  it  all,  and 
down  tumbled  the  pleasant  edifice  in  a  jumble 
of  broken  hopes. 

He  read  it  once  more. 

MR.  JOHN  WILLETT, 
SHEFFIELD,  M . 


MY  DEAR  MR.  WILLETT: 

It  is  my  painful  duty  to  inform  you  that  your 
son,  Francis  Willett,  became  involved  in  a  most 


256  LITTLE   SIR  GALAHAD 

unfortunate  affair  on  the  night  of  November  10, 
and  his  participation  was  of  such  a  nature  that 
it  cannot  be  overlooked  by  the  college  authorities. 

I  will  spare  you  unnecessary  details,  but  will 
say  that  excessive  indulgence  in  stimulants  led 
three  of  our  students  to  appropriate  a  public 
automobile,  which  has  resulted  in  arrest  and  ar- 
raignment upon  several  charges,  including  that  of 
theft,  disorderly  conduct,  reckless  driving,  and  the 
operation  of  a  motor  vehicle  while  intoxicated. 

It  has  been  the  fixed  rule  of  the  faculty  that, 
in  the  absence  of  thoroughly  extenuating  circum- 
stances, any  students  haled  into  court  for  misde- 
meanors should  be  dealt  with  most  severely;  and 
in  the  present  instance  I  am  left  no  alternative. 
The  young  man's  resignation  has  been  asked  for 
and  received. 

I  believe  he  secured  release  from  custody  under 
a  suspension  of  sentence,  and  may  consider  him- 
self most  fortunate  to  escape  far  more  serious 
consequences. 

Regretting  beyond  expression  the  disappoint- 
ment and  chagrin  which  this  occurrence  must 
cause  you,  not  only  as  a  father,  but  as  an  alumnus, 
I  remain,  Very  respectfully  yours, 

WALTER  J.  HACKETT, 
Dean  of  the  College. 

The  door  opened  and  Willett  looked  up. 
Francis  had  entered  almost  upon  the  heels 
of  the  postman  who  had  brought  the  damning 
letter. 


A  LETTER  FROM  THE  DEAN         257 

Very  humbly  and  woefully  'the  young 
man  crossed  the  room  and  sank  into  a  chair. 
He  did  not  look  at  his  father  nor  offer  a 
hand  in  greeting.  Willett  surveyed  his  son 
steadily  for  some  minutes  without  speaking. 

"Did  you  —  did  you  get  a  letter  from  the 
college?"  asked  Francis. 

"Yes." 

"Then  there's  no  need  of  my  telling  you." 

"I  'm  afraid  there  is  not  much  that  you  can 
add,  Francis.  What  will  your  mother  say?  " 

Francis  looked  up  quickly. 

"Oh,  dad,"  he  said,  "does  she  need  to 
know?" 

"How  shall  we  explain  it  to  her?" 

"  Can't  we  —  can't  you  —  er  —  sort  of 
smooth  it  over?" 

"I  have  never  been  in  the  habit  of  deceiv- 
ing your  mother.  I  should  not  know  how  to 
go  about  it.  Perhaps  you  would  do  it  more 
skillfully." 

Francis  winced. 

"Don't,  please  don't,"  he  begged.  "It 
was  n't  such  a  —  it  was  n't  so  awfully  bad. 
We  did  n't  mean  any  harm.  We  were  n't 
ourselves." 


258  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

"Whose  fault  was  that?" 

"I  —  er  —  nobody's;  it  was  the  wine  we 
had  been  drinking  —  everybody  does  it. 
We'd  won  a  big  football  game,  and  we  were 
celebrating — " 

"Oh,  celebrating.  So  to  celebrate  it  is 
customary  to  disgrace  yourself.  And  every- 
body does  it,  eh?" 

"Why,  almost  everybody." 

"Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  all  the 
worth-while  students  of  your  coljege  thought 
it  their  duty  or  their  privilege  to  part  with 
their  self-respect  just  because  a  football 
game  had  been  won  by  a  few  of  you?  Did 
those  who  had  won  the  game  do  so?  If 
anybody  had  the  privilege  of  'celebrating,' 
I  should  think  they  were  the  ones." 

"They  couldn't;  they're  in  training." 

"Oh,  that's  it.  I  had  an  idea  that  every- 
body in  college  was  in  training  —  in  training 
for  life.  I  sent  you  there  for  just  that  purpose. 
Why  should  there  be  any  essential  difference 
in  the  training  for  a  football  game  and  the 
preparation  for  your  future?  Which  is  the 
more  important?  Answer  me." 

"The  future,  of  course;  but  I  haven't  got 
any  future  now." 


A  LETTER  FROM  THE  DEAN         259 

"Let  us  go  back  to  your  original  proposi- 
tion. You  say  'everybody'  does  it.  That 
is  n  't  true.  There  are  doubtless  scores  of 
fellows  who  don't;  the  majority,  in  fact. 
Isn't  that  so?" 

"Oh,  I  suppose  so;  but — " 

"But  what?  You  mean  to  say  the  asso- 
ciates you  chose  all  do  it?" 

"No,  but—" 

"Listen,  Francis.  You  are  crying  baby, 
and  it  is  almost  as  much  disappointment 
to  me  to  have  you  do  that  as  it  is  to  learn 
of  your  disgrace.  Let  us  understand  each 
other  once  and  for  all;  or,  rather,  I  wish  you 
to  understand  me.  You  cannot  blame  any- 
body else  for  your  trouble.  You  chose  your 
own  companions,  your  own  road.  You 
cannot  lay  it  at  the  door  of  the  college  or 
college  customs.  Remember,  I  have  been  at 
college  —  the  same  college  to  which  I  sent 
you.  'Everybody'  does  not  do  this  thing, 
this  foolish  'celebrating.'  There  is  no  hope 
for  you  —  as  you  say  yourself,  you  have  no 
future  —  if  you  make  a  silly,  childish  prac- 
tice of  dodging  the  responsibility  for  your  own 
misconduct.  That  is  all  I  have  to  say. 


260  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

"Now  I  will  try  to  do  what  I  can  to  soften 
this  thing  for  your  mother.  Meanwhile  we 
will  decide  what  you  would  better  do.  You 
must  go  to  work,  of  course." 

"Here  in  the  office,  with  you?" 

"No,  not  yet.  I  don't  want  you  with  me 
for  the  simple  reason  that  you  must  learn  to 
be  independent.  You  will  not  amount  to 
anything  if  you  are  at  my  beck  and  call. 
You  have  had  one  opportunity  and  have 
failed.  Perhaps  it  was  my  fault  in  that  I  was 
too  indulgent;  I  gave  you  too  much  money. 
Things  came  too  easy.  I  will  try  to  get  you 
a  place  where  you  will  earn  just  enough  to 
live  on.  You  may  stop  at  home  with  us, 
if  you  like,  but  even  then  you  must  be 
entirely  self-supporting.  When  you  have 
learned  how  to  handle  your  own  affairs,  even 
if  they  amount  to  but  ten  dollars  a  week,  I 
will  consider  giving  you  a  chance  to  handle 
some  of  mine. 

"Now,  Francis,  I  have  no  intention  of 
preaching  to  you.  I  tried  that.  I  don't  say, 
'Do  this'  or  'Don't  do  that.'  You  have 
had  a  lesson  which  may  or  may  not  teach 
you  something.  If  it  has  taught  you,  per- 


A  LETTER  FROM  THE  DEAN         261 

haps  it  may  turn  out  a  blessing  in  disguise  — 
a  rather  bitter  blessing;  like  a  quinine  pill 
with  the  sugar  coating  on  the  inside.  Your 
cure  lies  in  taking  your  medicine  like  a  man." 

That  ended  the  interview  which  had  been 
too  painful  for  either  to  wish  to  prolong  it. 
Willett  turned  to  the  piled-up  affairs  on  his 
desk  and  sighed.  He  had  never  sighed 
quite  like  that  before.  It  occurred  to  him 
that  he  was  n't  a  young  man  any  more.  He 
felt  as  if  he  had  turned  the  three-score-and- 
ten  milestone  decades  ago.  Francis  arose 
and  approached  the  desk. 

"Will  you  shake  hands,  dad?"  he  asked. 
11 1  '11  do  better." 

The  father  looked  up,  and  all  at  once 
the  years  rolled  back  and  Francis  was  a 
little  boy  again.  In  those  days  he  had  some- 
times had  occasion  to  punish  the  little  fel- 
low; and  always,  when  it  was  over,  Francis 
had  come  to  him,  a  penitent,  and  crept  up 
to  him  and  said  he  was  sorry,  and  he  "never 
would  do  it  again."  Willett  would  take  him 
into  his  arms  and  forgive  him  and  whisper 
encouraging  things  in  his  ear,  and  Francis 
would  cry  comfortably  and  be  forgiven,  and 


262  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

the  hurt  would  be  gone  from  both  their 
souls. 

But  now  the  hurt  would  not  go  away.  Yet, 
after  all,  Francis  was  his  little  boy,  his  only 
son;  he  had  the  same  old  yearning  to  hug 
him  and  tell  him  everything  would  be  all 
right  if  only  he  would  be  good.  He  took 
his  son's  proffered  hand  and  pressed  it  si- 
lently. 

"Very  well,"  the  pressure  said.  "See 
that  you  do.  I  have  confidence  in  you  yet." 

But  Francis  did  not  cry.  He  went  out, 
leaving  his  father  feeling  old  again.  John 
Willett  blew  his  nose  and  attacked  his  work. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

RODNEY   JONES,    OF   THE    View 

THE  factdty  of  Minot  House  recognized  the 
value  of  publicity.  Theirs  was  a  message  vital 
to  the  community.  In  order  that  Minot 
House  might  do  the  greatest  amount  of  good, 
might  wield  the  maximum  of  influence, 
people  must  know  of  its  activities.  Anything 
that  happened  which  would  make  a  good 
newspaper  story  was  pretty  likely  to  find  its 
way  into  print.  It  seemed,  too,  as  if  the 
people  of  Sheffield  could  never  have  too 
much  news  of  Minot  House. 

When  the  editor  of  a  Sheffield  paper  put 
on  a  new  reporter,  he  would  usually  say: 
"Go  up  to  Minot  House  and  get  a  story. 
There's  always  something  good  there.  Let's 
see  what  you  can  make  of  it." 

Rodney  Jones  got  this  assignment  his  first 
day  on  the  Evening  View.  Jones  went  to 
Minot  House,  watched  the  crowds  of  stu- 

263 


264  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

dents  ebbing  and  flowing,  tried  to  catch  some- 
thing of  the  atmosphere  of  the  place,  and 
waited  for  an  inspiration.  It  came,  in  the 
shape  of  a  blonde  boy  with  a  slight  oddity  of 
gait.  He  could  not  be  over  thirteen  or  four- 
teen, the  reporter  thought,  and  as  most  of 
the  other  students  appeared  to  be  much 
older,  curiosity,  which  is  at  the  bottom  of 
what  is  called  news  instinct,  impelled  him  to 
follow  Charlie  Thomas. 

The  boy  took  the  elevator  and  so  did  Jones. 
At  the  top  the  elevator  door  slid  back  and 
disclosed  a  vast  room,  flooded  with  scien- 
tifically distributed  north  light.  There  were 
pallid  effigies  of  classic  figures  standing  about 
on  pedestals;  a  pungent,  oily  smell  permeated 
the  air;  half  a  hundred  students  in  smock- 
like  aprons  sat  working  at  easels  or  adjust- 
able tables.  They  were  drawing  or  painting, 
mostly  from  still  life;  in  a  far  corner  an 
aged  and  picturesque  tramp  sat  as  immovable 
as  the  classic  statues,  while  a  group  of  stu- 
dents limned  his  figure.  The  room  was  quite 
still ;  everybody  except  the  instructors  seemed 
too  busy  to  talk.  Those  who  did  so  conversed 
in  whispers. 


RODNEY  JONES,  OF  THE   VIEW       265 

"Is  this  —  is  this  the  art  department?" 
asked  Jones. 

"U-huh,"  said  Charlie  Thomas,  genially. 
"Want  to  see  somebody?" 

"I'm  a  reporter,  from  the  View.  I'm 
here  to  get  a  write-up." 

"What's  a  write-up?" 

"A  story,  an  article,  for  our  Sunday  sup- 
plement." 

"Oh,"  said  Charlie,  "that'd  be  fun,  I 
should  think.  I'd  like  to  read  it;  this  is  the 
best  part  of  Minot  House." 

The  big  blue  eyes  flashed  with  enthusiasm. 
It  was  this  earnestness  of  purpose  which  had 
attracted  Jones,  because  he  thought  it  unusual 
in  a  boy  of  that  age.  Jones  made  a  rapid 
estimate  of  Charlie,  judged  him  by  the  strik- 
ing picture  value  of  his  wonderful  curly 
head,  and  jumped  at  a  conclusion. 

"I  see,"  he  said.  "You're  one  of  the 
models." 

Charlie  laughed.  "I  pose  sometimes,"  he 
said;  and  this  was  true.  Something  impish 
required  him  to  have  a  little  fun  at  just  this 
moment. 

"Who's  the  boss  here,  the  professor,  or 
whatever  you  call  him?" 


266  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

"Mr.  McGregor?  That's  Mr.  McGregor 
over  there." 

Charlie  indicated  a  serious  young  man 
who  was  explaining  something  to  one  of  the 
students  by  the  use  of  his  thumb.  The  re- 
porter went  and  stated  his  errand,  while 
Charlie  put  on  his  own  smock  and  fell  to 
work  rubbing  charcoal  on  the  nose  of  a 
smutty-looking  Apollo  Belvedere  which  he 
had  outlined  on  his  board.  He  scowled  and 
rubbed  and  drew  back  and  squinted,  first  at 
his  drawing  and  then  at  the  plaster  model  on 
a  nearby  shelf.  Plainly  his  work  gave  him 
small  satisfaction. 

Mr.  McGregor  led  the  newspaper  man 
about  the  big  room,  giving  him  an  animated 
account  of  the  work  of  the  classes  and  ex- 
plaining everything  with  great  politeness. 
When  they  reached  Charlie,  the  reporter 
stopped. 

"Why,  here's  the  little  chap  that  I  was 
talking  with,"  he  said.  "I  thought  he  was 
a  model;  he  looks  like  a  glorified  choir  boy. 
I  can't  help  thinking  there's  a  story  in  that 
kid." 

Mr.  McGregor  was  an  artist,  but  he  had 


RODNEY  JONES,  OF  THE   VIEW       267 

had  some  canny  Scotch  ancestors.  There  was 
a  "story  "  in  Charlie,  and  McGregor  knew  that 
it  was  a  good  one;  but  it  would  depend  upon 
Charlie  whether  or  not  it  could  be  had. 

''Thomas,"  said  McGregor,  "just  a  minute, 
please." 

Charlie  deserted  Apollo  with  alacrity. 

"Yes,  Mr.  McGregor." 

"This  is  Mr.  Jones,  of  the  View.  He  wants 
to  write  us  up  — " 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Charlie,  "he  said  so." 

"I  wish  you'd  show  Mr.  Jones  some  of 
your  little  portrait  sketches." 

"Oh,  Mr.  McGregor,"  protested  the  boy. 

"Sure,"  chimed  in  Jones,  "let's  see  'em. 
I'm  crazy  about  art." 

"They're  not  art,"  said  Charlie.  "They're 
no  good.  I  've  torn  up  most  of  'em,  honestly 
I  have,  Mr.  McGregor." 

"What  are  you,  a  budding  C.  D.  Gibson?" 
asked  the  reporter.  He  did  n't  mean  to  be 
fresh,  but  he  sounded  so  complacent,  so 
cocksure.  Way  down  inside  Charlie  Thomas 
the  little  mischief  imp  tickled  him. 

"Wait  a  minute,"  he  said,  and  picked  up  a 
scrap  of  paper,  which  he  laid  on  a  magazine. 


268  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

Then,  with  a  pencil,  he  made  some  rapid 
strokes,  glancing  momentarily  at  the  in- 
terested and  grinning  Jones. 

"Here  you  are,"  he  said,  and  went  back  to 
his  work. 

Jones  took  the  sketch,  gave  it  one  look, 
and  burst  into  a  roar  of  laughter  that  caused 
all  the  quiet  workers  to  look  up  in  startled 
curiosity.  McGregor,  over  Jones's  shoulder, 
saw  what  Charlie  had  done.  The  likeness  of 
Jones  was  most  amazing;  it  was  ridiculous, 
absurd. 

"That's  great,"  cried  the  reporter,  "it's 
just  me  all  over.  Say,  young  fellow,  can  you 
hit  'em  like  that  every  time?  I  '11  show  it  to 
the  crowd  at  the  office  —  it's  a  wonder." 

He  eyed  the  caricature  again,  and  the 
smile  faded  from  his  face.  Was  it  a  likeness, 
after  all?  Did  he  look  like  that? 

"Say,  professor,"  he  said,  "what's  that 
boy  trying  to  do,  make  fun  of  me?  I  don't 
look  like  that;  now  do  I?  Say,  that's  too 
much,  you  know.  It's  clever,  but  — " 

He  paused  and  stared  stupidly  at  the 
sketch.  It  was  like  looking  into  a  glass  which 
reflected  not  alone  his  lineaments,  but  his 


RODNEY  JONES,  OF  THE   VIEW       269 

very  soul.  Every  meanness,  every  little 
narrow,  petty  prejudice,  every  smug  conceit, 
stood  there  as  legibly  as  if  printed  in  Gothic 
type. 

"This  young  man,"  said  McGregor,  "may 
or  may  not  be  an  artist  some  day.  I  often 
wonder  if  he  will.  But  he  has  this  aston- 
ishing gift  of  caricature  and  hardly  ever  uses 
it.  He  says  he  doesn't  dare  to;  he  hates 
to  hurt  people's  feelings.  He  is  singularly 
tender-hearted,  and  I  wonder  that  he  should 
have  allowed  himself  this  indulgence." 

"I  guess  my  face  was  too  much  of  a  temp- 
tation to  him,"  said  Jones.  He  slipped  the 
sketch  into  his  pocket.  "Good-by,  young 
fellow;  much  obliged.  You'll  do  all  right. 
I  can  get  you  a  job  on  the  paper  any  time. 
Gee !  Would  n't  some  of  our  prominent 
citizens  squirm  if  they  saw  themselves  as 
you'd  see  them!  Good-by,  Professor  Mc- 
Gregor. I'm  going  to  make  a  nice  story 
about  your  department.  This  is  my  first 
assignment,  and  I  hope  they  print  it.  Thanks 
for  your  time  and  trouble." 

"I'm  awfully  sorry,  Mr.  McGregor,"  said 
Charlie  in  distress  when  the  elevator  door 


270  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

had  slammed.  "I  wish  I  hadn't  done  that. 
Do  you  think  I  hurt  his  feelings  much?" 

"I  hope  so,  Thomas." 

"But  I  didn't  want  to.  Oh,  I'm  never 
going  to  sketch  anybody  again.  He  was  so 
—  so  kind  of  — " 

"Fresh?" 

"That's  it.  Something  inside  of  me 
jumped  up  and  whispered:  'Draw  his  pic- 
ture, Charlie;  draw  his  picture,  Charlie.' 
So  I  did  it.  Now  I'm  sorry." 

"  I  should  n't  be  sorry,  Thomas.  Come  and 
sit  down  here.  I  want  to  talk  to  you." 

Charlie  sat  down  quite  humbly.  Maybe 
he  was  in  for  a  lecture. 

"Thomas,"  said  Mr.  McGregor,  "did  you 
ever  hear  the  parable  of  the  talents?" 

"Sure  I  have,"  said  Charlie;  "everybody 
has." 

"I  think  you  have  a  very  remarkable 
gift,  my  boy.  I  know  you  are  sometimes 
afraid  to  use  it,  and  you  are  certainly  to  be 
respected  for  that.  Nevertheless,  I  know 
that  your  pencil  often  discovers  the  splendid 
traits  of  some  subjects  as  well  as  the  mean- 
nesses of  others.  So  I  want  to  advise  you  not 


RODNEY  JONES,  OF  THE   VIEW       271 

to  neglect  your  talent  for  caricature.  You 
may  see  the  day  when  you  can  use  it  very 
greatly  to  the  advantage  of  your  fellow  men." 

"How  could  that  be,  Mr.  McGregor?" 

"Have  you  ever  heard  of  Thomas  Nast? 
Or  of  Joseph  Keppler?" 

The  boy  shook  his  head. 

"They  were  men  who  did  great  service 
because  they  possessed  this  gift  of  yours. 
Many  years  ago  in  New  York  City  a  group 
of  politicians  robbed  the  people  shamefully 
and  defied  the  law  to  reach  them.  Nast,  by 
means  of  his  pencil,  presented  so  graphic  a 
picture  of  Tweed,  the  head  of  the  ring,  and 
of  his  followers  that  public  opinion  was 
aroused  and  the  thieves  were  put  where  they 
belonged  —  in  prison. 

"Do  not  for  one  moment  give  up  your 
struggle  to  become  an  artist,  Thomas.  But 
remember,  the  day  may  come  when  you  will 
be  an  instrument  for  good,  because  you  have 
this  wonderful  gift  of  telling  the  truth  with  a 
pencil  or  a  bit  of  charcoal." 

"Maybe  it  will  help  me  find  the  Grail," 
said  Charlie  gravely. 

"The  Grail?" 


272  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

"Haven't  you  heard  about  the  Galahad 
Knights?"  asked  Charlie.  "Well,  maybe 
I  'm  the  only  one  left,  now.  Of  course  it  was 
many,  many  years  ago." 

"Sir  Galahad  lived  in  the  days  of  King 
Arthur—" 

"Oh,  I  know  that;  I'm  talking  about  us 
boys.  We  had  a  society  called  the  Galahad 
Knights.  Francis  Willett  was  the  founder 
of  it.  Oh,  it  was  a  long  time  ago,  when  I 
was  only  a  young  boy." 

"Really,"  said  McGregor,  "as  long  ago 
as  that?  Well,  what  became  of  them?" 

"I  guess  most  of  them  went  off  to  school 
or  college.  They  were  all  older  than  me. 
But  I ' ve  stuck  to  it  ever  since ;  I  'm  a  Galahad 
Knight  to-day,  much  as  I  ever  was;  and 
some  day  when  I  get  a  chance,  I'm  going  to 
organize  the  society  all  over." 

"You  have  n't  given  up  the  Quest, 
then?" 

"No;  I'm  going  to  follow  it  as  long  as  I 
live." 

"Well  then,  Thomas,  let  me  tell  you  that 
your  talent  will  help  you  find  the  Grail,  as 
you  have  suggested.  That  is  all  for  this 


Jones  took  home  the  sketch  and  hung  \t  with  a  pin  on  the  wall. 
"If  that's  the  kind  of  a  chap  I  am,"  he  would  repeat, 
"  I'm  going  to  change  or  bust.  No  wonder  I  never  had  a 
decent  job  before" 


RODNEY  JONES,  OF  THE   VIEW       273 

morning.  I  should  say  you  had  Apollo's 
eye  too  far  back.  If  I  were  you,  I  should 
throw  this  one  away  and  start  another. 
It  can't  be  much  worse,  and  it  is  more  than 
likely  to  show  a  lot  of  improvement."  And 
McGregor  passed  on  to  the  next  Seeker. 

Jones  went  back  to  the  View  office  and  wrote 
his  story,  which  in  due  time  appeared  in  the 
Sunday  issue.  But  it  said  nothing  about 
Charlie  Thomas.  Jones  took  home  the  sketch 
and  hung  it  with  a  pin  on  the  wall  near 
his  bed.  Every  night  before  he  turned  in, 
and  every  morning  when  he  arose,  he  studied 
it. 

"If  that's  the  kind  of  a  chap  I  am,"  he 
would  repeat,  "I'm  going  to  change  or  bust. 
No  wonder  I  never  had  a  decent  job  before. 
Did  n't  want  to  hurt  folks'  feelings,  did  he? 
Well,  he  hurt  mine,  same  as  my  father  used 
to  hurt  'em  with  a  piece  of  trunk  strap;  and 
I  hope  it  does  me  as  much  good  as  the  strap 
did." 

But  Jones  had  another  idea  in  placing  the 
caricature  where  he  could  see  it,  and  that 
was  to  keep  Charlie  Thomas  in  mind.  The 
time  was  coming  when  it  would  be  very 


274  LITTLE   SIR  GALAHAD 

much  to  his  advantage  to  know  that  young 
artist.  Jones  had  a  big  idea  —  the  kind  of 
idea  that  makes  good  newspaper  men  and 
good  newspapers.  Meanwhile  he  studied  his 
trade  of  writing  and  bided  his  time. 


CHAPTER  XX 

THE   NEW   ASSISTANT 

MARY  ALICE  BROWN  looked  up,  one  morn- 
ing in  the  "gloves,"  and  caught  the  eye  of  a 
young  man  standing  in  the  aisle  before  her 
counter. 

"Hello,  Mary  Alice,"  said  the  young  man. 
He  had  a  good-humored  face,  a  complacent 
manner,  and  very  red  hair. 

"Francis  Willett,"  cried  Mary  Alice. 
"Where  did  you  come  from?" 

The  young  man's  red  hair  was  particularly 
noticeable,  because  he  wore  no  hat,  a  cir- 
cumstance which  struck  Mary  Alice  as  odd. 

"I  came  down  from  the  general  offices  of 
this  establishment  to  see  you,  Mary  Alice," 
said  Francis.  "I'm  working  here.  Do  you 
remember,  we  both  said  we  wished  we  did  n't 
have  to  be  educated,  so  we  could  work  in  a 
store?  Well,  we're  both  here." 

"But  how  about  your  education,  Francis?" 

275 


276  LITTLE   SIR  GALAHAD 

"How  about  yours?" 

"  Oh,  I  've  finished  mine.  I  graduated  from 
high  school  last  June." 

"And  I've  just  begun  mine.  I  was  ex- 
pelled from  college  last  week."  * 

"Francis!    What  for?" 

"Being  good  for  nothing." 

"I  don't  believe  it." 

"Ask  my  father." 

"Likely.  Why  don't  you  tell  the  truth? 
Are  you  sick  or  - 

"Crazy?  Yes,  I'm  crazy,  I  guess;  or  I 
was.  If  I  had  n't  been  crazy,  I  'd  still  be  in 
college." 

Mary  Alice  studied  Francis  Willett  thought- 
fully. She  wished  she  had  Charlie  Thomas's 
talent.  She  would  have  put  it  to  the  test 
then  and  there,  in  order  to  find  out  just  what 
kind  of  chap  this  complacent,  good-looking, 
red-haired  young  man  really  was.  Ever  since 
she  had  known  him  she  had  viewed  him  with 
alternating  affection  and  misgiving.  He 
could  be  so  winning  if  he  would.  But  after 
he  had  gone  away  to  school  he  had  outgrown 
the  scope  of  her  understanding.  She  guessed, 
shrewdly,  that  his  father  had  given  him  too 


THE  NEW  ASSISTANT  277 

much  money  to  spend  and  it  had  partly  spoiled 
him.  This  grieved  Mary  Alice,  for  at  heart 
she  was  very  fond  of  Francis. 

She  knew  she  wasn't  in  his  "class."  At 
his  best  he  never  made  her  feel  this  differ- 
ence, and  she  was  sure  he  never  meant  to 
make  her  feel  it,  even  at  his  worst.  After  he 
left  for  St.  Michael's  she  saw  but  little  of  him, 
and  her  impression  was  that  of  too  much 
"wisdom."  He  wasn't  simple  and  boyish 
and  frank  any  more.  He  used  to  be  the  sym- 
pathetic type,  quick  to  respond  to  suffering 
and  distress.  She  did  n't  know  that  he  would 
fail  to  respond  now,  but  he  had  certainly  lost 
that  keen  edge  of  sympathy  which  had,  in 
his  younger  days,  prompted  the  founding  of 
the  Galahad  Knights. 

"What  are  you  doing  in  the  store?"  she 
asked. 

"I'm  learning  the  business;  began  this 
morning.  I  already  know  what  f.o.b.  and 
c.o.d.  mean.  I'm  a  sort  of  cub  assistant  to 
Mr.  Stacey,  a  general  handy  little  man  in  his 
office,  not  quite  so  humble  as  an  office  boy 
or  nearly  so  exalted  as  a  saleslady.  I  can't 
give  anybody  orders,  and  nobody  but  the 


278  LITTLE   SIR  GALAHAD 

head  of  the  house  can  give  me  any.  I'm 
neither  hay  nor  grass,  but  I  need  cutting; 
and  they've  started  in  with  my  allowance. 

"Now,  Mary  Alice,  you  and  I  are  too  good 
friends  for  me  to  make  any  bones  of  my  sit- 
uation. I  'm  out  of  college  because  I  got  into 
a  scrape.  You  don't  need  to  know  what  it 
was.  I  came  home  like  the  fatted  calf  that  I 
am,  and  my  father  did  not  kill  the  prodigal 
son,  but  got  Stacey  to  give  him  a  job  at  ten 
dollars  a  week.  I  must  live,  move,  and  have 
my  being  on  that  amount,  pay  my  board  at 
home,  buy  my  clothes  and  lunches,  and  take 
you  to  see  the  films  once  a  week." 

"Mercy!"  said  Mary  Alice.  "Here  comes 
the  floorwalker.  Do  you  want  him  to  see  you 
loafing  here?  I  don't." 

If  Francis  had  been  a  dilatory  cash  boy,  he 
could  n't  have  scuttled  off  more  guiltily. 

"Who  was  that  young  man?"  demanded 
Mr.  Kemp,  the  floorwalker. 

"That  was  Mr.  Willett,  Mr.  Stacey 's  new 
assistant,"  said  Mary  Alice  glibly. 

"Mr.  Willett?    I  had  n't  heard." 

Mr.  Kemp  spoke  in  an  injured  tone,  as  if 
Mr.  Stacey  should  have  consulted  him  before 


THE  NEW  ASSISTANT  279 

engaging  an  assistant.  Mary  Alice  could  n't 
like  Mr.  Kemp;  he  was  too  "slick."  She 
did  n't  need  any  of  Charlie  Thomas's  help, 
pencil  or  no  pencil,  to  size  up  Mr.  Kemp. 
On  the  surface  he  was  all  geniality  and  polite- 
ness. He  met  the  customers  and  directed 
them  with  a  lordly  air  of  proprietorship,  as 
of  one  who  should  say:  "This  is  my  store,  la- 
dies; help  yourself  to  anything  you  see." 

Lucy  Bradish,  another  of  the  girls  in  the 
gloves,  said  Kemp  treated  'em  all  like  charge 
customers.  And  she  liked  him  just  as  well  as 
Mary  Alice  did,  and  not  a  bit  more.  This 
was  also  true  of  Hilda  Marsh  and  Jenny 
Madison.  They  had  both  been  in  the  de- 
partment longer  than  Mary  Alice  and  had 
many  stories  to  tell  of  Kemp's  pettiness,  his 
small  vanities,  and  the  meanness  which  un- 
derlay the  veneer  of  his  "this  is  the  way  to 
greet  customers"  manner. 

When  Kemp  had  strutted  off  up  the  aisle, 
Lucy,  innocently  busy  with  boxes  of  gloves 
that  in  no  way  interested  her  except  that  they 
were  near  Mary  Alice,  asked:  "Who  was  that 
nice-lookin'  fellow,  Mary  Alice?  The  one 
with  the  pink  hair?" 


280  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

"He's  one  of  the  — employees,"  answered 
Mary  Alice. 

"How  long  since?  I  never  saw  him  before. 
What's  he  do,  wear  clothes  in  the  men's  de- 
partment? Believe  me,  that  suit  he  had  on 
never  came  from  this  emporium.  Talk  about 
your  daily  hint  from  London!  And  that  tie 
—  was  n't  it  a  dream!  Oh,  Mary  Alice,  tell  a 
fellow,  will  you?" 

"That's  Mr.  Willett,  Mr.  Stacey's  new  as- 
sistant." 

"Oho,  from  the  head  office?  What'd  he 
want  of  you?" 

"Oh,  nothing." 

"Mary  Alice  Brown,  is  that  the  Francis 
Willett,  John  Willett's  son,  the  one  that's  so 
awful  rich?  I  bet  it  is;  I've  heard  he  was  a 
carrot-top.'  Oh,  don't  be  so  hateful!  I'm 
simply  crazy  to  know." 

Mary  Alice  grinned  at  Lucy,  but  said 
nothing,  and  the  other  girl  went  poutingly 
about  her  business.  She  sputtered  her  griev- 
ance to  Hilda  and  Jenny. 

"I  don't  see  what  he  could  have  wanted," 
she  said.  "Maybe  he'll  come  again.  He's 
awful  nice  looking." 


THE  NEW  ASSISTANT  281 

"Sure,"  said  Hilda.  "I've  seen  him  lots  of 
times;  his  folks  have  got  heaps  of  money.  I 
don't  see  what  he  wants  to  work  here  for." 

Another  caller  who  dropped  in  occasionally 
to  see  Mary  Alice,  usually  at  closing-up  time, 
was  Charlie.  His  work  at  Minot  House  was 
over  at  one  o'clock,  but  he  loved  to  stay  an 
afternoon  or  two  each  week  in  the  big  art  room. 
McGregor  said  he  was  making  a  good  deal  of 
progress. 

"Here  comes  your  steady,"  one  of  the 
girls  would  say,  "the  little  lame  fellow.  Is  n't 
he  the  darlingest  thing!  Hullo,  Charlie-boy. 
How's  things  over  at  Minot?  Or  have  you 
been  to  the  movies  this  afternoon?  There's 
a  dandy  film  down  to  the  Scenic.  It 's  called 
'Jupiter's  Daughter,'  five  reels.  I  wish  some 
nice  boy  with  yellow  curls  would  invite  me  to 
it." 

"Honest,  Hilda,"  Charlie  said  gravely,  "if 
I  had  money  enough,  I'd  take  the  whole  of 
you  to  the  movies  every  night;  wouldn't  I, 
Mary  Alice?" 

"I  think  he  would,  girls,"  said  Lucy. 
"He's  the  most  generous  boy  I  ever  knew. 
Never  you  mind,  Charlie;  you  stay  in  town 


282  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

next  Sat'day  after'  and  I'll  take  you  to  see 
'Jupiter's  Daughter'  and  we'll  have  ice 
cream.  It's  my  day  off." 

"Just  think  of  it,  girls/'  Lucy  said,  when 
Charlie  and  Mary  Alice  had  gone  to  catch 
the  Hillside  Falls  car;  "that  poor  child  never 
walked  a  step  until  he  was  eight  years  old.  A 
big  doctor  from  New  York  cured  him.  Mary 
Alice  just  worships  him.  He's  a  wonder,  she 
says.  Over  at  Minot  House  he 's  so  smart  he 's 
in  classes  with  folks  three  or  four  years  older 'n 
he  is,  and  he's  goin'  to  be  an  artist.  He's  a 
picture  himself.  Jenny,  lend  us  a  hatpin, 
will  you?  Mine 's  fell  down  behind  this  locker 
and  I  have  n't  time  to  fish  for  it  to-night. 
Ma 's  going  out  and  I  got  to  get  home  and  put 
the  kids  to  bed." 

"You  must  n't  come  down  here  very  often, 
Francis,"  warned  Mary  Alice  one  day.  "The 
girls  talk,  and  it  makes  Mr.  Kemp  furious. 
Every  time  he  sees  you  he  gets  so  disagree- 
able. It  seems  to  stir  up  all  his  meanness,  and 
that 's  a  good  deal,  let  me  tell  you.  Besides,  I 
don't  believe  Mr.  Stacey  would  like  you  to  be 
spending  your  time  visiting  a  —  a  shop  girl." 

"Nonsense,    Mary   Alice.      It's   the  only 


THE  NEW  ASSISTANT  283 

pleasure  I  have.  He  would  n't  mind.  As 
for  Kemp,  I'd  love  a  good  excuse  to  dis- 
arrange that  oily  smirk  of  his.  I  wonder  if  I 
could  manage  to  get  him  discharged." 

"Don't,  Francis.  He's  got  a  wife  and  six 
children.  Maybe  you  'd  be  cross  if  you  had  to 
take  care  of  a  family  like  that  on  his  salary." 

"Oh,  I  don't  know.  Maybe  he'd  get  more 
salary  if  he  knew  how  to  be  decent." 

"Do  you  know,  Francis,  I  sometimes  won- 
der if  people  can  help  their  dispositions.  Per- 
haps he  thinks  he's  doing  the  best  he  can; 
and  as  long  as  he  thinks  so,  how  are  you  go- 
ing to  blame  him?" 

Wiser  heads  than  Mary  Alice's  have  puz- 
zled over  that  problem. 

"Somebody  ought  to  tell  him,"  asserted 
Francis. 

"Haven't  you  and  I  any  faults?"  asked 
Mary  Alice.  "Maybe  somebody  could  tell 
us  a  few  things;  they  could  me,  anyhow." 

"Somebody's  going  to  tell  you  how  pretty 
you  are." 

"Hush,  you  big  silly.  I  thought  you  said 
I  was  skinny." 

"Good  heavens,  Mary  Alice,  you've  a  long 


284  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

memory.  How  about  my  big  feet?  Do  you 
still  think  I  run  to  elbows,  like  Sam's  pup?" 

"You  run  mostly  to  loud  neckties  and  fool- 
ish talk.  For  the  love  of  goodness,  go  back 
to  your  own  work  and  let  me  do  mine.  Yes  'm, 
those  are  real  Russia.  Three-fifty.  Yes'm, 
they're  guaranteed.  The  dogskins  are  at  the 
other  end  of  the  counter.  Charge  account? 
Yes'm.  368  Clipper  Hill  Avenue?  I'll  try, 
if  the  afternoon  delivery  has  n't  gone  yet. 
Well,  maybe  they'd  send  a  special  messenger, 
Mrs.  Travers.  What  do  you  think,  Francis? 
That's  the  Mrs.  Travers  I  used  to  haul  the 
washing  for,  and  you  used  to  help  me.  Will 
you  please  go  away?  No'm,  the  men's 
hosiery's  on  the  Essex  Street  side.  Mr.  Wil- 
lett,  will  you  please  show  this  lady  to  the 
men's  furnishings?  Thank  you;  good-by." 

Mary  Alice  decided  that  adversity  had  done 
Francis  Willett  a  world  of  good.  He  began 
to  lose  his  complacence.  Stacey  was  pretty 
frank  in  the  matter  of  criticism,  and  Mary 
Alice  guessed  that  all  was  not  rosy  in  the  up- 
stairs office.  She  wondered  how  long  Francis 
would  hold  his  job  if  Stacey  were  not  an  old 
friend  of  John  Willett. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

AT  THE   BOREAS   CLUB 

ONE  crisp  and  moderately  cold  day  in 
January,  a  Saturday  afternoon  that  the 
store  rules  once  in  so  often  allowed  Mary 
Alice  for  her  own,  the  doorbell  rang.  Little 
Dick  came  panting  up  to  Mary  Alice's  room, 
where  she  sat  mending  gloves.  She  did  this 
work  with  wonderful  skill,  and  many  of  the 
customers  of  Stacey's  glove  department  had 
found  it  out.  So  they  brought  her  numerous 
pairs,  often  expensive  party  gloves,  needing 
the  remedy  of  her  deft  surgery.  The  work 
added  measurably  to  Mary  Alice's  income, 
though  it  hurt  her  eyes  if  she  did  too  much 
of  it  evenings. 

"Mary  Alice,  Mary  Alice,"  called  little 
Dick.  "The'  's  a  nawful  big  auto'bile  out  in 
front  and  it 's  Mr.  Willutt  and  he  says  for  you 
to  hurry  he's  goin'  to  take  you  ridin'  and  he 
says  you  need  n't  put  on  your  coat  'cause 

285 


286  LITTLE   SIR  GALAHAD 

he 's  got  a  grea'  big  fur  one  for  you  to  wear 
and  hurry  up  down." 

"But,  Dicky,  I  can't.  I've  got  so  much  to 
do.  Tell  him  I'll  have  to  be  excused.  Well, 
say  to  wait  a  minute.  I'll  be  right  down." 

Dicky  thumped  hastily  off  downstairs. 

"She  says,"  he  informed  the  young  man 
at  the  door,  "she  says  she  can't,  she's  got 
too  much  to  do,  and  tell  you  she'll  have  to 
be  excused  and  wait  a  minute,  she  '11  be  right 
down." 

"I  thought,"  said  the  girl,  as  the  car  slid 
away  from  the  house  with  Mary  Alice 
cuddled  into  the  low  passenger's  seat,  well 
wrapped  in  furs,  "I  thought  you  said  your 
father  did  n't  want  you  to  use  his  cars." 

"T  is  n't  father's;  it's  Stacey's  runabout. 
I  asked  him  to  lend  it  to  me  and  he  was  very 
nice  about  it." 

"Then  you're  getting  along  better  with 
him?" 

"Looks  that  way.  I've  really  learned  a 
lot.  My,  how  he  has  gone  over  me!  But 
now  I'm  getting  so  I'm  rather  useful  to 
him.  He's  quite  pleasant,  most  of  the 
time." 


AT  THE   BOREAS  CLUB  287 

Was  that  a  hint  of  the  old  complacence? 

Mary  Alice  did  not  get  too  many  automo- 
bile rides.  The  cold  air,  as  they  moved 
swiftly  through  the  frozen  country,  bit  her 
cheeks  and  made  them  redder;  it  brought  the 
tears  to  her  eyes  and  made  them  brighter. 
She  snuggled  down  contentedly  and  enjoyed 
herself  exceedingly,  and  she  liked  Francis 
Willett  better  than  ever. 

:<This  is  the  life,  this  is  the  life,"  hummed 
Francis,  and  the  velvety  little  French  engine 
hummed  in  unison.  "I  tell  you,  it  feels 
good  to  get  a  wheel  in  my  hands  again. 
Gid-ap,  Dobbin!  Pretty  nice  car,  the  boss 
brought  home  from  Paris  last  fall.  Oh,  say, 
Mary  Alice,  if  only  I  had  some  money  of 
my  own!" 

"I  don't  see  but  that  you're  doing  nicely 
without  any." 

"You  don't  know.  It's  a  case  of  hold 
back  with  me  day  in  and  day  out.  My 
clothes  are  getting  shabby,  I  have  n't  had  a 
new  tie  for  a  month,  and  I  black  my  own 
shoes  every  morning  by  lamplight.  This 
getting  up  before  day  in  the  dead  of  winter's 
no  fun." 


288  LITTLE   SIR  GALAHAD 

"But  is  n't  it  doing  you  good?" 

"Oh,  I  suppose  so.  It's  what  my  father 
wanted.  By  George,  Mary  Alice,  there 's  one 
person  who's  pleased!  You  know  when  I 
first  came  home  he  had  hard  work  to  speak 
to  me,  poor  old  chap.  I  got  so  I  was  lots 
sorrier  for  him  than  I  was  for  myself.  Pretty 
hard  blow,  to  have  his  only  chee-ild  take  such 
a  tumble.  He  was  all  bokey-up.  But  now- 
adays, when  he  sees  mother's  iron-jawed  boy 
spring  lightly  out  of  bed  about  one  hour 
ahead  of  the  sun,  hears  me  swash  around  in  a 
tub  full  of  ice  water,  and  then  meets  my 
smiling,  business-like  phiz  at  the  breakfast 
table,  he  just  beams.  It's  one  of  the  two 
things  that  make  my  hard,  barren  existence 
supportable." 

"What's  the  other?"  asked  the  girl,  inno- 
cently. 

"You!" 

Mary  Alice  added  a  nice  pink  blush  to  the 
red  already  wind-kissed  upon  her  cheeks. 

"Fiddlesticks!"  she  said. 

"Fiddle  nothing,"  said  Francis.  "You're 
a  dandy  girl,  Mary  Alice.  I  love  you  to 
distraction." 


AT  THE  BOREAS  CLUB  289 

"Look  out  for  that  dog,"  cried  Mary  Alice. 
"My  goodness,  I  thought  you  were  going  to 
run  over  him." 

"Aren't  you  romantic?"  complained  the 
young  man.  "How  perfectly  idyllic  to  say, 
'  I  love  you,'  with  all  the  pent-up  passion  of  a 
tortured  soul,  and  to  have  your  adored  one 
shout,  'Hey,  look  out  for  the  ki-oodle!'  Real 
sentiment  there,  n'est  ce  pas?" 

"Oh,  Francis,  you're  so  absurd.  You 
must  n't  make  love  to  me.  I  don't  even 
think  your  father 'd  like  it  if  he  knew  you 
were  taking  me  to  drive.  It's  nice  to,  be 
friends,  but  —  oh,  please  don't  make  it  any 
stronger  than  that !" 

"What  talk  have  you?"  demanded  Francis. 
"My  father  thinks  you're  just  about  right,  I 
can  tell  you.  'Way  back  when  you  and  I  were 
kids  he  used  to  tell  me  what  a  pretty  little 
thing  you  were  and  how  much  sense  you  had." 

"That  was  because  we  were  little." 

"Doesn't  make  any  diff.  You're  prettier 
now  than  ever,  and  you've  got  ten  times  as 
much  sense.  Listen  to  me!  You  don't  know 
my  dad.  Do  you  think  he  has  any  foolish 
ideas  about  'class'  and  ' exclusiveness '  and 


290  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

all  that?  Why,  when  he  was  my  age  he  was 
poor  as  —  as  I  am.  Poorer;  he  got  only  six 
dollars  a  week." 

"But  he  was  a  college  man." 

"He  earned  his  way  through  —  he  and 
Uncle  Billy  Jackson.  That's  why  they're 
such  pals.  Uncle  Billy  Jackson  thinks  you're 
great,  Mary  Alice." 

"He  has  n't  seen  me  for  four  or  five  years. 
Let's  not  argue.  For  goodness'  sake,  where 
are  we,  anyhow?  I've  never  been  here  be- 
fore. What  are  you  turning  in  for?  " 

"It's  the  Boreas  Club;  tobogganing,  ski- 
ing, skating  —  all  that  sort  of  thing.  Ever 
have  an  ice-boat  ride?  Ever  go  down  a 
toboggan  chute?  Now's  your  chance." 

Francis  turned  the  car  over  to  an  attend- 
ant at  the  clubhouse  steps  and  led  Mary  Alice 
into  the  great  living-room. 

"  Want  something  to  warm  you  up  a  mite?  " 
asked  her  host. 

"No,  indeed,  I'm  not  a  bit  chilled." 

"Well,  then,  after  we've  had  our  slide. 
Now  let's  see.  You'll  need  some  heavier 
boots,  and  mittens,  and  a  stocking  cap. 
Wait  here  a  few  minutes;  I'll  be  right  back." 


AT  THE  BOREAS  CLUB  291 

He  disappeared,  leaving  Mary  Alice  stand- 
ing before  the  broad  hearth,  where  a  big  fire 
crackled  cheerily.  The  room  was  exceedingly 
fine.  Thick,  warm-colored  rugs,  invitingly 
deep  chairs,  appropriate  pictures,  all  con- 
tributed to  its  delightful  and  luxurious  at- 
mosphere. To  Mary  Alice  this  was  a  taste  of 
the  life  of  rich  people.  A  couple  of  silent  ser- 
vitors glided  about,  attending  upon  the  few 
guests  who  seemed  to  prefer  the  comfort  of 
the  room  to  the  allurements  of  outdoor  sports. 
These  grouped  themselves  about  small  tables, 
where  they  laughed  over  their  tea.  Among 
them  Mary  Alice  recognized  two  or  three 
familiar  faces,  those  of  young  women  to  whom 
she  had  sold  gloves  at  Stacey's.  If  they 
noticed  her,  they  gave  no  sign.  Something 
told  Mary  Alice  that  she  ought  to  feel  out  of 
place  here;  but,  on  the  contrary,  she  made 
herself  quite  at  home,  idly  turned  over  the 
pages  of  magazines,  examined  some  of  the 
pictures,  and  enjoyed  the  experience  quite 
frankly. 

Mary  Alice  knew  that  the  Boreas  Club 
was  made  up  of  the  best  people  of  Sheffield 
and  its  suburbs.  Moreover,  she  knew  that 


292  LITTLE   SIR  GALAHAD 

Francis  Willett's  social  position  gave  him  the 
entree  wherever  such  people  gathered.  That 
he  was  a  member  and  that  she  was  his  guest 
gave  her  a  pleasant  sensation  of  belonging 
there  herself. 

Francis  came  back,  followed  by  a  respectful 
maid,  who  carried  sundry  articles  of  apparel, 
including  a  gay-patterned  mackinaw  and 
stout  outing  boots. 

"Just  go  with  Teresa,"  said  her  escort. 
"She'll  fix  you  up  in  a  jiffy.  I  borrowed  this 
plunder  from  a  friend's  locker.  Oh,  it's  all 
right.  I  telephoned  about  it  before  I  left 
town;  you  see  I  had  this  little  party  all 
planned.  So  trot  along;  we  must  make  the 
most  of  the  afternoon." 

Mary  Alice,  putting  on  the  costume  thus 
supplied,  considered  Francis  Willett  mighty 
thoughtful.  Ever  since  boyhood  he  had  al- 
ways had  such  a  delightful,  easy  way  of  doing 
things.  With  all  his  complacence,  he  was 
entirely  charming,  and  never  more  so  than 
when  he  was  alone  with  her. 

Of  course  he  said  silly  things,  but  Mary 
Alice  was  just  as  human  as  any  other  girl. 
Somehow  she  was  perfectly  sure  that  Francis 


AT  THE  BOREAS  CLUB  293 

meant  just  what  he  said,  and  she  could  n't 
resent  it.  She  did  n't  want  to. 

Together  they  climbed  the  long  slope  to  the 
top  of  the  toboggan  chute.  There  was  no 
snow,  but  a  combination  of  labor,  water,  and 
cold  weather  had  produced  a  beautifully  iced 
runway  that  dipped  dizzily  between  high 
gunwales  of  planking  to  the  shore  of  a  sizable 
lake.  Mary  Alice  remembered  pictures  of 
winter  carnivals,  and  the  atmosphere  at  the 
Boreas  Club's  toboggan  slide  now  seemed 
charged  with  the  carnival  spirit.  Laughing, 
shouting,  excited  coasters,  all  carefully  dressed 
in  garments  designed  for  this  particular  sport, 
crowded  the  broad  starting  platform.  Nearly 
everybody  knew  Francis  and  greeted  him 
noisily  and  cordially.  Many  cast  inquiring 
glances  Mary  Alice's  way;  she  was  too  pretty 
to  be  ignored. 

Francis  procured  from  somewhere  a  luxu- 
rious, cushioned  toboggan,  fitted  with  shiny 
nickled  rails  and  a  chime  of  blending  bells. 
He  looked,  so  Mary  Alice  thought,  the  most 
stunning  young  man  in  the  crowd.  Perhaps 
the  pattern  of  his  mackinaw  was  a  little 
the  most  striking;  he  certainly  wore  his 


294  LITTLE   SIR  GALAHAD 

tasseled  cap  with  a  rakish  and  fetching  air. 
A  tall,  graceful  figure,  he  carried  himself  with 
easy  assurance,  his  complacent,  confident 
smile  quite  in  keeping  with  his  position  in 
this  world  of  "nice"  people. 

If  occasion  arose,  he  introduced  Mary 
Alice  to  his  women  friends  or  presented  Mr. 
This  and  Mr.  That  with  fine  courtesy.  Mary 
Alice  was  not  in  the  least  displeased  to  sense, 
in  Francis  Willett's  attitude,  a  sort  of  pride. 
Presently  he  confirmed  this  thought  for  her. 

"Mary  Alice,  do  you  want  to  meet  a  lot 
of  these  people,  or  just  keep  by  ourselves? 
They're  crazy  about  you,  especially  the 
men.  There  is  n't  a  girl  here  who  can  hold 
a  candle  to  you  — " 

"Francis!" 

"That's  right.  You're  the  prettiest  thing 
I  ever  saw,  in  that  get-up.  Come  on.  Let 's 
get  in  line  for  the  slide.  You're  going  to 
have  some  fun." 

When  their  turn  came  at  the  top  of  the 
chute,  Francis  tucked  her  in  behind  the 
curved  front  of  the  toboggan  and  dropped 
into  his  place,  right  hip  to  cushion. 

"Hang  on  tight,"  he  said. 


AT  THE  BOREAS  CLUB  295 

It  was  like  being  poised  on  the  brink  of 
a  precipice.  Mary  Alice  peered  down  that 
dizzy  slope  and  felt  a  delicious  little  shudder 
of  terror.  What  was  going  to  happen? 
The  safe  return  of  group  after  group  proved 
the  non-hazardous  nature  of  the  sport,  but 
she  had  watched  each  toboggan  drop  out  of 
sight  under  that  brink  and  wondered  if  she 
should  ever  see  it  emerge  at  the  bottom  and 
go  tearing  out  upon  the  lake  ice ;  but  it  always 
had  done  so,  thus  far. 

The  Boreas  toboggan  slide  was  daringly 
designed  to  give  one  the  maximum  of  thrills. 
After  an  almost  sheer  descent  of  fifty  feet, 
the  slope  seemed  to  fold  back  upon  itself, 
and  then  drop  again  with  such  amazing  sud- 
denness that  the  toboggan  shot  clear  of  the 
ice  and  described  an  arc  in  mid-air,  coming 
down  with  a  bewildering  swoop  that  left 
one  quite  breathless. 

"Hold  hard,"  cried  Francis.    "We're  off." 

He  kicked  out  with  his  nail-studded  left 
toe,  and  the  trip  began.  Mary  Alice  had 
just  time  enough  to  brace  herself,  when  the 
whole  world  seemed  to  fall  out  from  under 
her.  The  flat  bottom  of  the  toboggan  swept 


296  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

the  ice  with  a  high-pitched  roar;  the  swift 
wind  pressed  upon  her  like  a  wall  of  water. 

' '  Now,  then,  whooo-oooo-o-o-o-oooop ! ' ' 
shouted  Francis,  past  Mary  Alice's  ear,  and 
the  toboggan  leaped  straight  out  into  space. 
The  girl  wondered,  afterward,  if  this  sensation 
of  helpless,  catapulted  flight  could  be  any- 
thing like  that  of  traveling  in  an  aeroplane. 
But  now,  absurdly,  ludicrously,  terribly,  out 
of  the  past  came  one  word,  which  sang  in 
her  brain  as  she  fell  endlessly  through  that 
shining  void:  "Gravity!  Gravity!  Grav- 
ity!" 

They  came  down  crashing,  bells  a-shout, 
and  hurtled  onward  in  a  great  swirl  of  ice 
particles,  shot  out  upon  the  lake  surface, 
past  a  blur  of  roped-off  skaters,  and  gradually 
slowed  to  a  stop  near  the  farther  shore. 
Francis  pulled  her  to  her  feet,  and  she  clung 
to  him,  a  little  dizzy. 

"Pretty  good,  eh?"  he  said.  "Like  it? 
Were  n't  scared,  were  you?" 

Mary  Alice  gulped,  blinked,  and  shook 
her  head.  "No,  but— " 

"But  you  don't  want  any  more?  Is  that 
it?" 


The  flat  bottom  of  the  toboggan  swept  the  ice  with  a  high-pitched 
roar ;    the  swift  wind  pressed  upon  her  like  a  wall  of  water 


AT  THE  BOREAS  CLUB  297 

"Are  you  —  Do  you  want  to  go  down  — 
again?"  she  asked. 

"Why,  of  course.  That 's  what  we're  here 
for.  Only,  if  you  would  rather  not  — " 

"Francis  Willett,  do  you  think  you  're  nice 
to  me?  Do  you  think  I'd  —  I'd  quit? 
Don't  you  think  I've  got  as  much  spunk  as 
those  other  girls?" 

"You  bet  you  have.  More,  too.  Come, 
here 's  the  team." 

Horses  hitched  to  big  sleds  conveyed  the 
coasters  back  to  the  foot  of  the  slide,  where 
the  toboggans  were  drawn  up  by  an  endless 
chain,  steam  propelled. 

"It's  too  bad  there's  no  breeze,"  com- 
mented Francis.  "We  could  go  ice  boating. 
That  would  be  fun;  it's  much  more  exciting 
than  this.  You'd  love  it." 

Mary  Alice  looked  up  obliquely  at  her 
escort;  there  was  a  twinkle  in  his  eye. 

"Yes,"  she  said.  "It's  a  shame!  Did  you 
ever  jump  off  the  roof  of  a  skyscraper?  I 
should  think  it  would  be  quite  thrilling  — 
that  is,  until  you  got  accustomed  to  it." 


CHAPTER  XXII 
"SAY  YOU'LL  MARRY  ME,  OR " 

WITH  the  early  winter  darkness,  long  lines 
of  electric  lamps  lighted  the  slide  and  dotted 
the  lake.  More  and  more  people  appeared 
to  swell  the  carnival  throng.  Mary  Alice  felt 
its  picturesqueness,  its  color,  its  bewildering 
novelty.  After  that  breath-taking  initiation 
she  lost  her  keen  edge  of  fear,  but  the  long 
plunge  at  the  "  jumping-off  place'*  maintained 
its  fascinating  terror. 

"It's  getting  overcrowded,"  at  length  an- 
nounced Francis.  "We  don't  get  our  turn 
very  often;  the  waits  are  too  long.  Let's 
go  to  the  clubhouse  and  order  supper." 

"Oh,  but  I  must  be  home  for  supper," 
insisted  Mary  Alice.  "The  family  will  worry. 
It  has  been  perfectly  splendid,  Francis. 
You've  been  an  old  dear  to  give  me  such  a 
heavenly  afternoon." 

"Oh,  well,  if  you  must,"  he  conceded,  after 

298 


"SAY  YOU'LL  MARRY  ME,  OR  "     299 

five  minutes  of  useless  argument.  "Anyhow, 
we'll  have  something  hot  before  we  start." 

When  Mary  Alice  had  discarded  her  bor- 
rowed costume  and  returned  to  the  big  living- 
room,  she  found  Francis  there  alone. 

"Everybody's  coasting  or  skating,"  he 
said.  "They'll  begin  to  drift  in  pretty  soon. 
I  wish  we  did  n't  have  to  go.  It 's  jolly  here 
in  the  evening.  There'll  be  dancing.  The 
orchestra's  ripping.  Don't  you  think  this  is 
a  pretty  smooth  place?  Everybody  belongs, 
old  and  young.  Father's  a  charter  member. 
I  hate  to  miss  a  good  time  out  here,  because 
I  suppose  I've  got  to  resign.  My  income's 
too  small  to  afford  these  indulgences.  My 
membership  is  paid  up  to  March;  then,  good- 
by,  club.  Will  you  come  again  with  me 
soon?" 

"Why,  of  course.  Only  —  well,  I'm  not 
exactly — " 

"Fiddlesticks ! "  cried  Francis  testily.  " I  Ve 
never  asked  another  girl  here.  And  if  you 
don't  come  with  me,  I  don't  care  a  snap 
about  the  place." 

He  looked  down  at  her,  his  eyes  ardent. 
Mary  Alice  turned  away.  She  suddenly 


300  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

found  it  a  little  hard  to  meet  that  boyish, 
eager  look ;  so  she  murmured  something  which 
sounded  like  "Nonsense."  But  she  was  very 
much  afraid  the  rejoinder  lacked  convincing- 
ness, even  to  herself. 

One  of  the  pussy-footed  serving-men 
brought  her  a  big  chair  and  placed  a  hassock 
under  her  feet.  Francis  said  something  to 
him,  which  Mary  Alice  failed  to  catch. 

"Yessir,  right  away,  sir,"  the  man  replied, 
and  trotted  off. 

Francis  rattled  on  with  agreeable  and 
soothing  talk.  Mary  Alice  answered  cheerily 
and  stretched  out  her  hands  to  the  blazing 
logs.  The  serving-man  came  back  with  a 
tray,  placed  a  little  table  between  Francis 
and  Mary  Alice,  and  on  it  set  two  small 
earthen  mugs,  out  of  which  a  vapor  curled 
in  attenuated  shreds. 

"That's  fine,"  said  Francis.  "I  bet  you 
never  tasted  anything  so  good!" 

He  took  the  nearer  mug  by  the  handle  and 
waved  it  under  his  appreciative  nose. 

"What's  that,  chocolate?"  asked  Mary 
Alice.  Her  mouth  began  to  water  delicately. 
She  picked  up  the  mug  and  set  it  to  her  lips. 


"SAY  YOU'LL  MARRY  ME,  OR  "     301 

"Ugh!"  She  put  it  hastily  back  on  the 
table. 

"What's  the  matter?  Too  hot?  I  should 
have  warned  you.  They  make  'em  simply 
scalding.  Let  it  get  cool;  we've  plenty  of 
time." 

Mary  Alice  looked  gravely  at  the  young 
man.  He  was  placidly  sipping  the  mixture, 
which  burned  with  something  beside  heat. 
She  had  swallowed  but  a  little,  yet  her  throat 
scorched  as  with  a  fiery  condiment. 

"What  is  that,  Francis?" 
'This?     Tom-and- Jerry,   of  course.     Just 
the  thing  for  a  cold  day  like  —    Why,  Mary 
Alice,  what's  the  matter?" 

"I  wish  you  —  I  don't  like  —  can't  I 
have  a  glass  of  water?" 

" Sure,  sure!  But  you  'd  better  have  choco- 
late." He  rang  a  bell  and  directed  the 
serving-man  to  bring  it.  "I  didn't  know  — 
I  suppose  you're  offended.  I  thought  you'd 
like  the  other.  Everybody  else  does." 

He  finished  his  mug  hastily,  as  if  fearing 
that  something  might  cheat  him  of  it,  and 
displayed  a  half-annoyed  embarrassment. 

"I'm  so  sorry,"  said  the  girl.     "I  didn't 


302  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

mean  —  it  surprised  me.  Please  don't  do  it 
again,  will  you?  I  'm  not  a  silly  goody-goody; 
maybe  you  think  I  am.  It 's  just  —  well,  you 
don't  know  what  I've  been  through  on 
account  of  it,  and  I'm  awfully  afraid  of  it. 
You  would  n't  blame  me  if  I  refused  to  drink — 
arsenic  or  something  like  that,  would  you?" 

"But  this  is  n't—" 

"Yes  it  is.  To  me  it's  no  different  from 
any  other  poison,  only  a  little  slower,  and  — 
it  makes  people  suffer  so,  Francis!  You 
don't  know,  you  can't  know.  Forgive  me. 
I  did  n't  mean  to  spoil  your  good  time." 

"Spoil  nothing,"  cried  Francis.  "Why, 
Mary  Alice,  this  has  been  the  most  perfect 
day  I  ever  spent.  Oh,  Mary  Alice,  dear  little 
pretty  Mary  Alice,  let's  you  and  me  get 
married!" 

"Don't  start  in  again,  Francis!  I  must  n't 
let  you  talk  like  that,  especially  when  you've 
been  —  taking  that  — " 

"That  harmless  little  mugful?  Pooh!  But 
never  mind,  Mary  Alice.  I'll  make  a  bar- 
gain with  you.  I  don't  care  a  cent  for  it. 
I  like  it,  sometimes.  But  it'll  never  get  the 
best  of—" 


"SAY  YOU'LL  MARRY  ME,  OR  "     303 

"  I  thought  it  got  you  expelled  from  college." 

Francis  Willett  bounded  out  of  his  chair 
as  if  he  had  been  shot  at.  He  stood  over  his 
companion,  eyes  blazing. 

"Don't  you  dare  to  talk  like  that  to  me, 
Mary  Alice  Brown!"  he  cried  fiercely.  "Do 
you  think  I  'm  nothing  but  a  kid?  Look  here; 
I'll  show  you." 

He  picked  up  the  second  mug,  which  she 
had  set  down. 

"Will  you  marry  me,  or  won't  you? 
Speak  quick,  now.  You  don't  like  this  stuff 
-you're  afraid  of  it.  You  say  it's  poison. 
Well,  then,  I'll  give  you  your  choice.  Say 
you  '11  marry  me  —  give  me  your  promise  — 
and  I'll  give  you  mine  never  to  touch  an- 
other drop  as  long  as  I  live.  I  'm  in  earnest. 
You  be  the  same.  Come,  what's  the  ver- 
dict?" 

He  held  the  cup  close  to  his  face,  moving  it 
back  and  forth  past  his  lips. 

"You're  a  little  temperance  advocate; 
I'm  a  lost  sinner.  I'll  give  you  a  chance  to 
save  me,  to  make  a  convert.  Come,  Mary 
Alice.  I  '11  count  ten.  One  —  two  —  three 
—  four  —  five  —  " 


304  LITTLE   SIR  GALAHAD 

"Don't,  Francis,  don't,  please.  You 
have  n't  any  right  to  - 

"Six  —  yes,  I  have  a  right  —  seven  — 
it's  because  I  love  you  —  eight  —  and  you 
ought  to  love  me  —  nine  —  I  'm  not  such  a 
bad  chap  —  I  '11  make  good  some  day  — 
shall  I  say  it?  Ten!" 

He  set  the  little  mug  to  his  lips.  Mary 
Alice  threw  herself  out  of  her  chair  and 
struck  at  the  cup.  Francis  waved  it  out  of 
her  reach,  and  the  contents  spilled. 

"Ouch!"  said  Francis.  "It's  running  up 
my  sleeve." 

He  lowered  the  mug,  and  Mary  Alice  sent 
it  spinning  into  the  fireplace,  where  the 
liquor  sizzled  and  spat  like  a  snake  among 
the  coals. 

"Anyhow,  I  didn't  promise,"  the  young 
man  said. 

"Let's  go  home,"  begged  Mary  Alice. 

"After  your  chocolate,"  said  Francis. 

Out  in  the  open,  under  the  early  stars, 
they  sped  along  the  frozen  country  roads 
again.  Mary  Alice  said  nothing  for  a  long 
time.  Francis,  subdued  and  half-apologetic, 
gave  his  entire  attention  to  the  wheel. 


"SAY  YOU'LL  MARRY  ME,   OR  "     305 

"That  wasn't  a  bit  nice  of  you,  Francis 
Willett,"  the  girl  said,  at  last.  "You 
were  n't  fair  with  me.  You  have  n't  any 
right  to  make  me  take  the  responsibility  of 
what  you  do." 

"I  meant  it,"  said  Francis.  He  was  a 
trifle  glum.  "I  still  mean  it." 

"Listen,  Francis,"  began  Mary  Alice, 
gently.  "You  want  me  to  love  you  against 
my  better  judgment.  You  want  me  to  do  a 
thing  that  would  just  about  break  your 
mother's  heart.  She  wouldn't  have  you 
marry  a  shop  girl.  Besides,  how  can  I  know? 
You  're  very  nice  —  when  you  want  to  be. 
But  you  're  rich  —  a  rich  man's  son.  I  'm 
poor  —  a  laborer's  daughter.  My  mother 
used  to  take  in  washing.  Lots  of  girls  would 
jump  at  the  chance,  but  I  can't  do  it.  Some- 
thing tells  me  not  to.  Why  don't  you  make 
me  the  promise,  anyhow?  It  was  your  own 
suggestion.  I  did  n't  ask  it  of  you.  I  do  ask 
it  now.  If  you  do  well  you  will  be  rich  some 
day,  like  your  father.  He  is  such  a  good 
man.  You  said  yourself  it  was  the  one 
thing  - 

"One  of  the  two  things." 


306  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

"One  of  the  things  that  made  you  go  on 
trying.  Let's  make  a  bargain.  Give  me 
three  years  —  two  years.  Go  on  and  do 
your  best.  Promise  to  keep  from  drinking, 
just  as  you  said  you  could,  and  would.  Then 
I  '11  make  you  a  promise.  If  your  father  and 
mother  want  you  to  marry  me  at  the  end  of 
the  two  years,  I'll  do  it,  provided  you  keep 
your  promise." 

Francis  Willett  was  twenty-one  years  old, 
legally  a  man,  actually  a  boy.  He  had  tried 
the  high  hand  and  failed.  He  was  hurt  and 
the  defeat  stung  him.  He  was  so  much  a 
boy  that  he  would  not  let  himself  see  that 
Mary  Alice  was  right.  He  thought  his  pride 
had  been  touched,  when  it  was  only  his  boy- 
ish egotism. 

"No,"  he  said.  "If  you  don't  care  enough 
about  me  to  promise  to  marry  me  without 
any  father-and-mother  string  hitched  on, 
I  don't  care  to  do  business."  Francis  was 
trying  to  be  humorous.  "Your  proposition 
interests  me,  Mary  Alice,  but  on  mature  con- 
sideration I  fear  we  cannot  reach  an  under- 
standing at  this  time.  Thanking  you  for  the 
very  courteous  attention  you  have  given  the 


"SAY  YOU'LL  MARRY  ME,  OR  "     307 

matter,  and  hoping  that  at  some  future  date 
the  negotiations  may  be  reopened  between 
your  house  and  our  own,  I  remain,  with 
kind  regards,  yours  respectfully,  F.  Willett." 

"Oh,  dear,"  said  Mary  Alice. 

"If  you  were  addressing  me  — " 

"Here's  the  house.  Let's  not  say  any 
more,  Francis.  I  'm  so  broken  up  about  this. 
Our  lovely  afternoon  all  gone  to  smash!" 

She  disentangled  herself  from  the  big 
coat  and  the  coonskin  robes  and  stepped 
out. 

"Oh,  Francis,  you  are  such  an  old  darling," 
she  said.  "I  could  love  you  if —  Oh,  I 
guess  I  do  love  you,  anyhow!  I  guess  I 
loved  you  that  night  you  whipped  Lutey 
Travers  for  tipping  over  my  washing.  But 
I'm  not  going  to  spoil  your  life  for  you 
and  break  your  mother's  heart.  I'd  —  I'd 
rather  mine  would  break.  G-g-good  night!" 

She  turned  and  ran  up  the  steps,  past  the 
door  which  little  Dick  obligingly  held  open 
for  her,  and  on  up  to  her  room. 

"Hey,  Mary  Alice!  Where 'd  you  go? 
Have  a  good  time?  Tell  me  'bout  it." 

"I  can't  now.     Yes,  I   had  a  fine  time. 


308  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

Tell  mother  I've  got  a  headache.  I  don't 
want  any  supper." 

Dicky  heard  the  door  slam. 

"Gosh!"  he  said.  "Say,  mother,  Mary 
Alice  says  she  had  a  fine  time  and  she's 
got  a  headache  and  she  would  n't  tell  me 
nothin'  about  it  and  she  don't  want  no  sup- 
per. What  you  goin'  to  have,  fried  pertaters? 
I'm  starved." 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

TWO   INTERVIEWS 

FRANCIS  WILLETT  was  doing  rather  well, 
Mr.  Stacey  told  the  young  man's  father. 
He  was  faithful,  ambitious,  prompt.  His 
employer  wanted  to  trust  him  even  more 
than  he  did.  But  there  was  a  drawback. 

"That  boy  of  yours,"  said  Stacey,  "is  as 
bright  as  they  make  'em.  I  can  see  great 
ability  in  him.  He  takes  hold  surprisingly 
well  and  catches  an  idea  as  quick  as  a  steel 
trap  catches  a  squirrel.  He  has  the  com- 
mercial instinct." 

"Look  here,  Stacey,"  said  Wfflett.  "If 
you  think  so  well  of  the  boy,  why  not  let  me 
make  you  a  proposition?  You  know  the 
mercantile  business  is  about  the  only  thing 
in  this  town  I  have  n't  had  a  finger  in.  I  'd 
like  to  get  in  there  with  you.  I  could  buy  a 
block  of  your  stock,  and  Francis  could  be 
my  personal  representative  on  your  board. 

309 


310  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

It  would  be  a  great  thing  for  the  boy,  and  he  'd 
see  something  substantial  coming  to  him  in 
the  future." 

"That's  a  good  proposition,  John,"  said 
Stacey,  "except  for  one  thing;  and  that's 
what  I'm  here  to  see  you  about." 

"Well?"  Somehow  Willett  felt  a  queer 
little  dread  before  Stacey  spoke  again. 

"I'll  tell  you,  John.  That  boy  of  yours  is 
too  fond  of  —  well  —  er  — " 

"You  mean?"  Willett  made  a  significant 
gesture. 

"Yes,  John." 

"But  he's  living  at  home,  Stacey.  I 
should  know  it,  I'm  sure." 

"Don't  fool  yourself  —  or,  rather,  don't 
let  Francis  fool  you.  Here  it  is  mid-summer; 
he's  been  with  me  since  November  almost 
constantly.  I'm  in  a  position  to  know." 

"You  mean  to  say  he  gets  — ' 

"Oh,  no,  not  at  all.  But  he's  fallen  in 
with  a  crowd  who  go  to  the  Waldemere  to 
lunch  every  day,  and  when  he  comes  in  for  his 
afternoon  work,  I  notice  it.  Lord  love  you, 
he  'd  be  as  surprised  as  anybody  if  he  knew  I 
suspected.  But,  John,  he's  only  a  boy,  and 


TWO  INTERVIEWS  311 

he's  forming  a  habit  that  may  do  him 
tremendous  harm.  If  he  could  be  made  to 
promise  to  quit,  and  stick  to  it  for  a  reason- 
able length  of  time,  I  'd  entertain  that  prop- 
osition of  yours  mighty  quick." 

"Stacey,  what  do  you  advise?  I've  cer- 
tainly tried  to  do  my  duty  by  that  boy; 
he's  all  I've  got.  You  can  appreciate  what 
he  means  to  his  mother  and  me.  I'm  at 
my  wits'  end.  I'm  afraid  I'll  do  or  say  the 
wrong  thing.  Boys  are  so  touchy,  and  I 
might  tip  over  the  apple  cart.  I  tell  you, 
it's  a  terrible  situation." 

"Wait  a  minute,  John.  There's  something 
else  I  have  n't  told  you.  It  may  make  a 
difference.  It's  none  of  my  business,  in  a 
way;  then  again,  it's  very  much  my  busi- 
ness." 

"If  it's  about  Francis  — " 

"It  is.    He's  got  a  girl." 

"A  girl?    You  mean— " 

"  In  the  glove  department  —  a  little  beauty. 
The  boy  is  fairly  wild  about  her.  I  catch 
him  down  there  two  or  three  times  a  week. 
In  fact,  I  had  to  caution  him  only  yesterday. 
I  can't  have  him  neglecting  business  for  a 


312  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

salesgirl.  Last  winter  —  I  guess  it  was  in 
January  —  he  borrowed  my  new  French 
runabout  and  took  her  riding.  She  lives  out 
Hillside  Falls  way.  I  tell  you,  John,  she's 
a  beauty.  Only,  of  course,  she's  rather 
humble — " 

"Is  her  name  Brown?" 

"I  believe  so.    Mary,  I  think." 

"Mary  Alice.  I  know  her.  You're  right 
about  her  being  pretty.  I've  known  her 
since  she  was  a  little  girl,  and  a  smarter  child 
never  lived.  I  wonder  if  she's  as  bright 
now?" 

"I  understand  she's  one  of  our  best  sales- 
girls." 

"Mary  Alice,  Mary  Alice,"  repeated  John 
Willett.  "What  if—  I  wonder  what  his 
mother 'd  say." 

"I  should  think  she'd  be  rather  upset. 
She's  an  aristocratic  woman,  your  wife." 

"Stacey,  you  know  aristocracy  goes  a 
precious  little  way  with  me.  This  girl  saved 
my  boy  once.  I  wonder  if  we  can't  get  her  to 
help  us  save  him  again." 

"She  ought  to  be  willing;  he's  a  fine  fel- 
low. But  if—" 


TWO  INTERVIEWS  313 

"If  what,  Stacey?" 

"I  was  thinking  of  the  girl's  own  happi- 
ness. You  know  how  it  is,  almost  always, 
when  a  woman  marries  a  man  to  reform 
him.  It  does  n't  work." 

"All  right,  then;  let  her  reform  him  before 
she  marries  him.  I  tell  you,  Stacey,  if  he 
wants  that  girl  and  I  can  help  him  get  her, 
he  shall  have  her,  provided  he  quits  this 
foolishness.  I'll  settle  it  with  Mrs.  Willett. 
Now  I  tell  you  what.  You  send  Mary  Alice 
Brown  to  see  me,  right  here  in  this  office. 
Will  you  do  it?" 

"I  most  assuredly  will,  John.  You  can 
depend  upon  it." 

That  afternoon  Mr.  Stacey  —  the  Mr. 
Stacey  —  the  merchant  prince  and  all  that 
sort  of  thing,  was  seen  walking  rather  aim- 
lessly about  the  aisles  of  his  great  store.  He 
usually  kept  to  his  office,  and  now  the 
clerks  nudged  each  other  and  whispered: 
"  There  he  is  —  the  boss." 

Stacey's  apparently  purposeless  wander- 
ings brought  him  in  time  to  the  vicinity  of 
the  gloves. 

"It's  Stacey  himself,"  whispered  Lucy. 


314  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

The  merchant  idly  turned  over  a  few  pairs. 

"Let  me  see,"  he  said  to  Mary  Alice 
Brown,  "have  you  some  of  those  new  wash- 
able chamois,  size  seven  and  three-quarters?" 

"I  think  so,  Mr.  Stacey." 

"Those  are  the  ones,"  said  Stacey.  "Let 
me  see,  what  time  is  it?  Dear  me,  I  'm  afraid 
I'm  too  late."  The  usually  alert  and  deci- 
sive Mr.  Stacey  peered  about  him,  as  if  in 
perplexity. 

"You  see,  I'm  in  a  rather  embarrassing 
position.  I  —  the  fact  is,  I  promised  a  friend 
of  mine  a  pair  of  these  gloves,  and  I  said  I  'd 
send  them  to  him  before  closing  time.  You 
don't  happen  to  know  where  Mr.  Willett's  - 
Mr.  John  Willett's  —  office  is,  do  you,  young 
lady?" 

He  looked  innocently  at  Mary  Alice,  over 
the  tops  of  his  glasses. 

"Yes,  sir,  I  know.  It's  in  the  Craddock 
Building." 

"That's  right,  that's  right.  Well,  now, 
suppose  you  do  this  errand  for  me.  Take  this 
message  to  Mr.  Willett,  and  be  very  careful 
to  deliver  it  just  as  I  give  it  to  you.  Say, 
'Mr.  Stacey  wishes  me  to  tell  you  that  he 


"  Let  me  see,"  the  merchant  said  to  Mary  Alice  Brown,  "  have 
you  some  of  those  new  washable  chamois,  size  seven  and 
three-quarters? " 


TWO  INTERVIEWS  315 

has  sent  you  what  he  promised/  Do  you 
understand?" 

"Mr.  Stacey  wishes  me  to  tell  you  that  he 
has  sent  you  what  he  promised." 

"Right;  and  then  give  him  the  gloves. 
And  you  need  n't  come  back.  One  of  your 
friends  here  can  tell  the  superintendent  that 
I  took  you  away  from  your  duties.  And  I  am 
very  much  obliged  to  you,  Miss  —  Miss  — " 

"Brown." 

"  Miss  Brown  —  yes,  yes.  I  'm  very  much 
obliged  to  you." 

"Ain't  Mary  Alice  the  luckiest  thing?" 
demanded  Hilda.  "To  get  a  chance  like 
that.  She's  solid  from  now  on.  The  lucky 
little  piece!  Now  why  could  n't  it  been  me? 
I  could  remembered  them  words  as  well  as 
her.  'Mr.  Stacey  says  to  tell  you  here's 
the  new  style  gloves.'" 

To  say  that  Mary  Alice  was  quite  unsus- 
pecting would  be  doing  her  intelligence  scant 
justice;  yet  she  certainly  could  not  see  into 
the  mystery.  It  might  have  just  happened; 
still - 

She  told  the  clerk  in  John  Willett's  outer 
office  that  she  wished  to  speak  to  Mr.  Willett 


316  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

personally.  She  said  to  tell  him  Miss  Brown 
was  there,  from  Stacey's.  The  clerk  came 
back  and  very  politely  ushered  this  unusually 
pretty  girl  into  the  inner  office. 

"Hello,  Mary  Alice,"  said  Willett. 

Mary  Alice  walked  up  to  Willett  and  took 
the  cordial  hand  he  held  out  to  her.  He  acted 
as  if  he  had  actually  expected  her.  Then 
the  message: 

"Mr.  Stacey  wishes  me  to  tell  you  that  he 
has  sent  you  what  he  promised." 

"I  should  say  he  had,  and  mighty  promptly, 
too,"  cried  Willett;  and  the  funny  part  was, 
Mary  Alice  had  n't  given  him  the  package  con- 
taining the  gloves.  She  laid  it  on  the  desk. 

"Sit  down,  Mary  Alice.  I  want  to  talk 
to  you." 

He  paid  no  attention  to  the  gloves;  so 
this  was  a  plot.  She  began  to  feel  excessively 
uncomfortable. 

"Yes,  Mr.  Willett." 

"Mary  Alice,  what  do  you  think  of  my 
boy?" 

The  girl  jumped.  "Francis?"  This  was 
a  foolish  question,  of  course;  but  Mary  Alice 
felt  foolish. 


TWO  INTERVIEWS  317 

"Francis.  You  thought  enough  of  him 
once  to  save  him  from  drowning." 

"But,  Mr.  Willett  - 

"Mary  Alice,  has  Francis  been  making 
love  to  you?" 

"  Ye  --  no  -  -  well  —  why,  Mr.  Willett, 
what  a  question!" 

"That's  all  right.  He  has,  of  course. 
Now,  Mary  Alice,  do  you  love  Francis?" 

She  said  nothing  this  time. 

"That's  all  right,  then,"  went  on  Willett. 
"I  just  wanted  to  say  to  you,  little  girl,  that 
nothing  would  please  me  so  much  as  to  have 
my  boy  marry  as  nice  a  —  I  mean,  marry 
you!" 

"But  I  am  afraid—" 

"You  need  n't  be.  I  know  all  about  you. 
Your  people  were  good  back-country  stock, 
the  finest  blood  in  the  world.  Mine  came 
from  the  country,  too.  Nothing  could  be 
more  fitting.  But  there's  something  in  the 
way.  You're  a  pretty  sensible  girl,  I  guess. 
You  have  brains  enough  to  know  that  a 
wise  young  woman  never  marries  a  man 
whose  habits — " 

"  I  don't  think  he— " 


318  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

"Yes,  he  does;  don't  you  tell  me.  I  have  it 
on  the  best  authority  that  he  does.  He's 
fooled  you  and  me,  that's  all." 

"I  knew  he  drank  a  little  —  but  not 
much." 

"Much,  Mary  Alice  —  even  a  little  is 
'much.'  But  Francis  drinks  more  than  a 
little,  every  day.  Do  you  see  him  often? 
Afternoons  or  mornings?" 

"Sometimes  a  little  while  in  the  morning, 
but  not  very  often  —  lately.  He 's  —  he 's 
rather  put  out  with  me,  I  guess." 

"He'd  better  not  be,  he'd  better  not  be. 
I  want  you  to  cultivate  him  —  encourage  him, 
Mary  Alice.  You'll  make  him  a  fine  wife, 
if  you  love  each  other.  But  he  must  stop 
this  foolishness.  He'll  stop  for  you." 

"No,  he  won't." 

"He  won't?  How  do  you  know?  Have 
you  tried  it?  I  thought  you  said  he  did  n't 
drink  much?  How  did  you  come  to  — " 

Mary  Alice  related  her  experience  at  the 
Boreas  Country  Club  and  concluded:  "Fran- 
cis said  he  did  n't  care  a  thing  for  drinking; 
he  would  give  it  up  if  I  would  promise  to 
marry  him." 


TWO  INTERVIEWS  319 

"But  he's  keeping  right  on,  Mary  Alice." 

"Well,  I  didn't  promise." 

"Why  not?  Don't  you  love  him?  Don't 
you  want  to  save  him?" 

"I  guess  —  yes,  Mr.  Willett,  I  love  Francis. 
He's  the  dearest  boy  in  the  world.  But  he 
would  n't  promise  to  stop." 

"Mary  Alice,  which  of  us  is  crazy?  First 
you  say  he  wanted  to  promise,  and  you 
would  n't  marry  him;  and  then  you  say  you 
wanted  him  to  promise,  and  he  refused." 

"It's  -  -you  and  Mrs.  Willett." 

"You  mean  you  thought  — " 

"  That  you  would  n't  want  Francis  to 
marry  a  shop  girl.  It  might  make  you  un- 
happy, and  that  would  make  Francis  unhappy 
in  the  long  run,  no  matter  how  much  he 
cared  for  me.  So  I  said  that  if  he  made 
good—" 

"Yes;  and  what  else,  Mary  Alice?" 

"And  promised  never  to  drink — " 

"Yes?" 

"And  his  mother  and  father  wanted  me  to 
marry  him  at  the  end  of  two  years,  I  would." 

"And  he  wouldn't  agree  to  that?  The 
young  fool!" 


320  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

"Well,  his  pride  was  hurt;  and  then,  how 
could  he  know  that  you  people  would  like 
it?  You  say  you  want  me  to  save  him. 
But  how  about  your  wife,  Mr.  Willett?  I 
don't  believe  she  has  the  least  idea  at  this 
instant  that  Francis  is  —  says  he  loves  me. 
Now  has  she,  Mr.  Willett?" 

"No,  Mary  Alice,  she  has  n't;  but  — " 

"I'm  afraid  it's  no  use,  Mr.  Willett.  I'm 
only  a  shop  girl  after  all;  and  Mrs.  Willett 
would  never  forget  it,  and  she'd  always 
believe  that  I  —  er  —  robbed  her  of  him,  as  if 
I  said:  'Give  him  to  me  or  I'll  let  him  go 
to  ruin.'  She'd  never  forgive  me." 

"What  a  funny,  distorted  way  you  look 
at  it,  Mary  Alice!"  cried  Willett  desperately. 
"Suppose  you  don't  marry  Francis,  and  he 
conies  to  grief  and  brings  all  the  rest  of  us  to 
grief,  how  will  you  feel?" 

"Terribly,  of  course.  But  why  can't 
he  listen  to  reason?  If  he  promised  ever  so 
hard,  I'd  have  to  wait  a  couple  of  years. 
I'd  want  to  be  sure  he'd  stick  to  it." 

"Well,  Mary  Alice,  I  think  you  are  right 
about  that.  But  I  can  assure  you  that  Mrs. 
Willett  and  I—" 


TWO  INTERVIEWS  321 

"I'll  believe  that  if  you  say  it  again  in 
two  years,"  said  Mary  Alice;  and  it  would 
have  sounded  like  a  very  cold-blooded  little 
speech  but  for  the  large,  wet  tears  that  were 
running  down  her  face. 

"Bless  your  heart,  Mary  Alice,"  cried 
John  Willett.  "You're  miles  too  good  for 
that  boy.  I'm  going  to  have  a  talk  with 
him." 

"But  you  won't  tell  him  you've  seen  me, 
will  you?"  sobbed  Mary  Alice  Brown. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

LIVES   AND   SOULS 

JOHN  WILLETT  went  home  that  night  fully 
determined  to  have  the  whole  thing  out  with 
Francis.  He  felt  sure  that,  at  twenty-one, 
his  son  could  hardly  have  formed  a  habit 
very  difficult  to  break.  He  was  just  begin- 
ning. There  ought  not  to  be  any  trouble. 
Francis  was  merely  boyishly  stubborn. 

John  did  not  say  anything  to  Mrs.  Willett; 
if  necessary,  there  would  be  time  enough  for 
that  later.  Willett  had  no  hampering  social 
notions.  His  son,  so  far  as  he  knew,  had  paid 
no  attentions  to  other  girls.  Willett  insisted 
in  his  own  mind  that  Francis  had  always 
loved  Mary  Alice.  Willett  would  have  ap- 
proved of  Mary  Alice  as  Francis's  choice 
with  delight,  even  if  the  girl's  influence  had 
not  been  necessary  to  save  the  boy. 

Stacey's  revelation  concerning  the  young 
man's  conduct  was  no  real  surprise  to  him. 

322 


LIVES  AND  SOULS  323 

He  did  n't  want  to  believe  it,  but  he  had 
been  denying  the  pertinence  of  the  signs  for 
a  long  time. 

In  his  expectation  of  talking  the  mat- 
ter over  with  his  son  that  night  he  was 
disappointed.  He  waited  up  until  after 
midnight  before  Francis  came  in.  Then  the 
father  decided  that  it  would  be  the  wrong 
time  to  open  the  subject,  for  he  became 
aware  that  the  boy  had  spent  his  evening 
with  the  new  crowd  he  had  lately  been 
cultivating. 

"What  have  I  done,  what  have  I  done?" 
Willett  asked  himself  bitterly.  "Why  should 
I  be  punished  like  this?  Why  should  I  have 
to  suffer,  who  have  been  so  unsparing  in  my 
attempts  to  bring  him  up  a  good,  sober,  and 
useful  man?  What  has/his  mother  done  to 
deserve  this?" 

Willett  stayed  awake  nearly  the  entire 
night  and  purposely  lay  late  next  morning, 
hoping  to  avoid  Francis,  who  usually  went 
to  his  work  early.  When  he  finally  got  about 
and  looked  at  his  face  in  the  shaving  glass, 
he  was  shocked  at  his  appearance.  He 
looked  old  and  sick;  his  face  was  drawn  and 


324  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

lined  with  pain.  His  eyes  were  dull  and  life- 
less, senile,  faded. 

Willett  got  through  the  short  forenoon 
somehow,  and  as  soon  as  he  could  tell  at  just 
what  hour  he  would  be  ready  for  lunch,  tele- 
phoned Stacey's.  The  luncheon  table  would 
be  an  excellent  place  for  the  dreaded  discus- 
sion with  his  son. 

He  was  informed  that  young  Mr.  Willett 
had  not  been  in  the  office  of  Stacey's  that 
morning.  Willett  got  Stacey  himself  on  the 
wire. 

"No,  John,"  said  Stacey,  "Francis  didn't 
come  down  this  morning.  They  telephoned 
from  your  house  that  he  was  ill." 

Willett  had,  then,  left  home  before  his  son 
was  out  of  bed.  He  called  the  house.  Mr. 
Francis  had  been  gone  an  hour.  He  had  taken 
the  big  touring-car. 

Willett,  as  Francis  had  told  Mary  Alice, 
had  forbidden  his  son  the  use  of  his  automo- 
biles during  the  period  of  probation.  This 
was  not  from  any  lack  of  generosity,  but  be- 
cause he  thought  Francis  would  be  benefited 
by  the  denial.  What  was  the  lesson  in  a 
small  salary  if  one  enjoyed  a  rich  man's 


LIVES  AND  SOULS  325 

luxuries  at  another's  expense?    The  salutary 
effect  would  be  lost. 

Willett's  perturbation  increased  as  the  day 
wore  on.  He  heard  nothing  of  his  son,  but 
dropped  into  Stacey's  just  before  closing 
time  and  asked  Mary  Alice  if  she  had  seen 
him.  She  had  not,  but  promised  immediate 
communication  if  she  heard  anything  of  the 
missing  young  man.  Willett  learned  nothing 
for  another  twenty-four  hours.  And  when  he 
did  — 

It  was  harvest  time  at  Thomas's  farm. 
From  the  fields  came  the  clatter  of  the  ma- 
chines. Sam  had  put  on  extra  hands,  and 
Mrs.  Brown  came  up  from  the  cottage  to  help 
with  the  added  burden  of  cooking  for  the 
workers.  Little  Dick  Brown  played  about  the 
dooryard. 

With  a  snort  a  great  black  touring-car  came 
tearing  into  the  Thomas  driveway.  The 
chickens  and  little  Dick  scattered,  but  the 
latter  had  a  narrow  escape.  He  set  up  a  loud 
scream  of  terror,  and  the  women  came  run- 
ning to  the  door. 

Francis  Willett,  at  the  steering  wheel, 
bowed  with  an  exaggerated  courtesy. 


326  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

"Good  morning,  ladies,"  he  said  jovially. 
"I  trust  you  are  very  well  this  morning." 

Martha  surveyed  the  visitor  with  the  fishy 
eye  of  suspicion.  Mrs.  Brown  was  comforting 
the  frightened  Dicky.  To  a  casual  observer, 
Francis  looked  above  reproach.  Dressed  with 
his  usual  care,  and  sporting  that  complacent, 
half -bantering  manner,  he  was  the  true  Fran- 
cis of  Martha's  acquaintance. 

But  old  experience  had  taught  Mrs.  Sam 
Thomas  the  signs.  She  had  known  another 
genial  soul,  whose  geniality  had  been  enhanced 
by  alcohol.  She  could  unerringly  tell  the  gen- 
uine from  the  imitation.  So  her  greeting  to 
Francis  was  not  of  the  heartiest. 

"My  dear  Mrs.  Thomas,"  said  the  young 
man  suavely,  but  with  just  the  slightest  trace 
of  a  thickened  accent,  "I  will  not  trespass 
either  upon  your  time  or  territory  for  more 
than  a  reasonable  minimum.  Where  is  Sam?  " 

"He's  in  the  field,  getting  in  the  grain." 

"Then  I  will  not  trouble  him.  I  merely 
wanted  to  fill  my  radiator.  You  can,  I  am 
sure,  spare  me  a  little  water  for  the  purpose? " 

"Help  yourself,"  said  Martha;  "there's  a 
bucket  at  the  well." 


LIVES  AND  SOULS  327 

Francis  got  down,  and  his  condition  be- 
came more  apparent;  for  his  walk  was  not  so 
fluent  as  his  speech.  He  possessed  himself  of 
the  bucket,  lowered  it  solemnly  but  unstead- 
ily into  the  well,  and  started  to  wind  it  up 
again.  The  windlass  squeaked  cheerfully,  but 
turned  exceedingly  hard. 

"Hey,  there,"  cried  a  hearty  voice;  "lemme 
help  you." 

It  was  Lem  Brown.  He  was  drenched  with 
perspiration  from  head  to  foot.  His  face 
streamed. 

"It's  a  tur'ble  hot  day  in  the  field,"  he 
said.  "Them  boys  drinks  up  the  water 
'bout's  fast  as  it's  brung  to  'em." 

Francis  Willett  did  not  know  Lem  Brown, 
except  by  reputation,  as  Mary  Alice's  father, 
and  an  assistant  of  Sam  Thomas.  Lem  had 
never  seen  Francis,  or  did  not  remember  him 
if  he  had.  He  filled  a  dipper  from  the  bucket 
and  drank  eagerly. 

"My  friend,"  said  the  young  man,  "I  have 
here  something  that  would  make  your  water 
much  more  palatable. ' '  He  pulled  a  flask  from 
his  pocket. 

"No,  thanks,"  said  Lem.  "I  don't  never 
touch  it  —  hain't  took  a  drink  for  years." 


328  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

"Perhaps,  after  so  long  a  time,  it  would 
please  you  to  renew  your  friendship  for  John 
Barleycorn." 

"Not  on  your  life,"  refused  Lem.  "Me 
and  John  Barleycorn's  never  been  friends. 
He  threw  me  down;  now  I'm  done  with  him 
forever;  yes  sirree!" 

He  set  his  dipper  on  the  well-curb  and  went 
to  unscrewing  the  radiator  cap.  "I'll  fill  her 
up  for  ye,"  he  said. 

Martha  and  Mrs.  Brown  had  gone  back  to 
the  boiling  pot  and  the  baking  oven.  Little 
Dick,  drawn  by  a  child's  curiosity,  stood 
nearby,  watching  his  father  fill  Mr.  Willett's 
"auto'bile"  with  water.  He  had  supposed 
that  all  such  machines  ran  exclusively  by 
gasoline. 

Little  Dick  saw  Mr.  Willett  play  a  funny 
joke  on  the  elder  Brown.  When  Lem's  back 
was  turned,  Mr.  Willett  emptied  half  the 
contents  of  his  flask  into  Lem's  dipper,  after 
which  he  added  water.  Lem  screwed  on  the 
cap,  returned  to  the  well,  and  picked  the 
dipper  up. 

"Beats  all  how  thirsty  I  be,"  he  said,  and 
without  taking  breath,  poured  most  of  the 


LIVES  AND  SOULS  329 

liquid  down  his  throat.  He  must  have  swal- 
lowed a  pint  before  he  suddenly  stopped.  He 
held  the  dipper  in  his  large  hand  and  con- 
templated it  stupidly. 

"Funny  tastin'  water,"  he  said.  Then  he 
looked  up  at  Francis,  who  was  grinning  in 
genial  appreciation  of  a  good  joke.  Into 
Lem's  slow  brain  crept  realization.  His  china 
eyes  stared,  horror-stricken,  at  the  smiling 
face  of  his  betrayer.  What  had  this  stranger 
against  him  that  he  should  come  and  stealth- 
ily poison  him?  Who  was  this  sneaking  en- 
emy, with  the  traitorous,  triumphant  smile? 

"Whisky!"  said  Lem.  The  liquor  had  not 
had  time  to  reach  his  brain,  but  red  anger 
seized  him. 

"You  grinnin'  sneak,  you,"  he  roared, 
frightful  in  his  rage.  Little  Dick  shrieked 
and  fled.  Lem's  hand  dropped  the  dipper, 
and  flew  to  the  rim  of  a  heavy,  water-soaked 
bucket,  used  for  watering  the  horses,  and 
without  a  lost  motion  he  hurled  the  iron- 
bound  utensil  full  at  Francis  Willett's  head. 
The  sharp  edge  of  the  bottom  hoop  caught 
the  young  man  just  over  the  right  ear,  and 
the  blow  was  terrible.  Francis  crumpled 


330  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

backward  to  the  ground  and  lay  there,  a  limp 
body,  all  but  dead.  The  bucket  went  bound- 
ing and  rolling  beyond  the  automobile. 

Lem  Brown  turned  and  ran.  Perhaps  some 
thought  of  escape  from  the  effects  of  what  he 
had  drunk  of  the  treacherous  fluid  in  the  dip- 
per prompted  this  headlong  flight;  if  so,  the 
hope  proved  vain.  The  fumes  of  the  alcohol 
mounted  swiftly  to  his  long-unaccustomed 
brain.  He  kept  on  running  until  quite  spent ; 
but  when  he  finally  slowed  down,  the  poison 
was  established  in  his  racing  blood.  He  kept 
on  walking  until  overtaken  by  a  city-bound 
trolley  car.  This  he  boarded,  and  was  seen 
no  more  for  three  days. 

"I  was  called  here  unexpectedly  in  consul- 
tation," said  Doctor  Billy  Jackson,  "so  I 
thought  I  'd  run  up  and  see  —  Good  heavens, 
man,  what  ails  you?" 

He  had  been  admitted  by  the  servant,  and 
now  stepped  across  the  threshold  of  John 
Willett's  library.  John  Willett  sat  huddled 
in  a  big  chair,  an  old,  haggard,  pitiful  man. 
He  had  been  out  to  Hillside  Falls  to  see 
Francis,  who,  the  doctors  said,  was  dying. 


LIVES  AND  SOULS  331 

The  boy  had  not  recovered  consciousness  in 
the  three  days  following  the  crushing  at- 
tack of  Lem  Brown's  indignation.  He  lay 
in  Sam  Thomas's  house,  with  two  hospital 
nurses  giving  futile  attendance.  Willett  had 
stayed  all  the  afternoon,  but  the  farmhouse 
was  small,  so  he  left  his  wife  there  to  keep 
vigil,  and  returned  home  in  the  motor.  The 
chauffeur  waited  with  the  car  at  the  side 
door  and  would  doze  there  all  night,  unless 
John  Willett  should  start  again  for  the  farm. 

When  Jackson  entered,  Willett  got  to  his 
feet.  "My  boy,  Billy,  my  boy;  he's  dying." 

"Where?" 

"At  Hillside  Falls,  in  that  farmhouse,  the 
home  of  the  child  you  cured  six  or  seven  years 


^ 

"  Little  Sir  Galahad?  John,  what  happened 
to  Francis?  I  thought  he  was  in  college." 

"He  has  concussion  of  the  brain,  due  to  a 
blow  from  a  bucket  in.  the  hands  of  a  —  a 
madman." 

"Don't  you  think  we  should  go  to  him  at 
once?" 

"What  is  the  use?  Two  doctors,  the  best 
in  Sheffield,  say  he  cannot  live." 


332  LITTLE   SIR  GALAHAD 

"But  they  may  not  be  right.  Come,  John. 
I  saw  your  car  at  the  door.  Take  me  to  the 
boy;  there  is  certainly  no  time  to  spare." 

A  little  flicker  of  hope  burned  in  the  father's 
eyes,  and  he  led  Doctor  Billy  to  the  motor. 
During  the  ride  to  Hillside  Falls,  Willett  told 
Jackson  something  of  the  events  leading  up 
to  the  catastrophe. 

"And,  Billy,"  he  kept  saying  piteously, 
"why  is  it?  Why  do  I  have  to  suffer  so,  as  if, 
instead  of  guarding  him  in  every  way,  I  had 
put  temptation  in  his  path?" 

"I  cannot  tell  you,  John,"  said  the  doctor 
gravely;  "yet  there  must  be  an  answer.  You 
may  know  some  day,  or  you  may  never  learn. 
But  these  things  do  not  happen  by  chance. 
There  is  a  reason,  even  if  it  lies  too  deep  for 
human  logic  to  reach." 

But  the  stricken  father  would  not  be  con- 
vinced and  kept  asking,  again  and  again: 
"Why?  Why?" 

They  came  at  last  to  the  Thomas  farm; 
and  it  was  now  about  nine  o'clock  in  the 
evening.  The  two  entered  cautiously,  through 
the  kitchen,  as  in  the  old  days.  Mary  Alice 
Brown  and  Charlie  Thomas  sat  there  to- 


LIVES  AND  SOULS  333 

gether.  Mary  Alice  had  not  seen  Mr.  Wil- 
lett  since  her  visit  at  his  office.  Now  she 
seemed  to  shrink  from  him,  but  he  went 
straight  to  her. 

"Little  girl,"  he  said  gently,  "we  were  too 
late." 

"Don't,  don't,"  cried  Mary  Alice.  "Do 
you  realize  that  I  could  have  saved  him?  It 
was  my  silly  pride.  I  have  killed  him;  no  one 
else  is  to  blame." 

She  broke  down  and  wept  with  great  vio- 
lence, quite  beyond  any  soothing  or  control. 
But  Charlie's  eyes  were  blazing. 

"Look,  look!"  he  cried.  "It's  Uncle  Billy! 
What  did  I  tell  you?  It's  God's  miracle. 
Uncle  Billy,  Uncle  Billy,  I  knew  God  would 
do  it;  I  knew  God  would  save  Francis!" 

The  boy  was  almost  incoherent  with  joy. 
He  hobbled  about  on  his  little  stilt-like  legs, 
with  his  odd,  hitching  gait,  and  presently 
from  the  sitting-room  emerged  one  of  the 
nurses.  She  recognized  Doctor  Jackson. 

"You  have  come  to  consult  with  Doctor 
Glenn?"  she  asked.  "I  will  call  him." 

Doctor  Billy  followed  the  nurse.  John 
Willett  took  Mary  Alice's  hand. 


334  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

"Dear  little  girl,"  he  said,  "don't  cry  any 
more.  Look  at  Charlie.  He 's  actually  laugh- 
ing. I  do  believe  there  may  be  a  chance  for 
Francis.  Otherwise  why  did  Doctor  Jackson 
appear  so  opportunely?" 

"He  came  because  I  knew  he  would,"  said 
Charlie.  "I  wasn't  surprised  a  bit  when  I 
saw  him  walking  in  that  door." 

But  the  boy  sobered  quickly  and  drew  Wil- 
lett  to  one  side.  "Oh,  Mr.  Willett,  what  do 
you  suppose  we  can  do  to  find  poor  Lem?" 

"PoorLem?" 

"Mary  Alice's  father." 

"If  we  ever  do  find  him,"  said  Willett,  and 
his  eyes  hardened,  "if  we  ever  do!" 

Charlie  drew  back,  a  little  frightened. 
"He's  Mary  Alice's  father,"  he  repeated. 

"He  killed  my  boy,"  said  Willett,  harshly. 

"But  what  did  your  boy  do  to  him?" 
asked  Charlie,  gently. 

"Nothing,  of  course;  unless  he  annoyed 
him  by  something  he  may  have  said." 

"No,"  said  Charlie;  "he  put  liquor  in 
Lem's  drinking-water." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"Little  Dick  saw  it;  he  told  his  mother  this 


LIVES  AND  SOULS  335 

afternoon.  Then  the  Boss  went  to  the  well, 
and  there  lay  the  dipper,  almost  empty;  but 
what  there  was  left  in  it  was  mostly  whisky. 
Lem  dropped  it  when  he  threw  the  bucket, 
but  it  did  n't  quite  all  spill  out." 

"But  why  should - 

"I'll  tell  you,  Mr.  Willett.  I  was  wishing 
Mary  Alice  would,  but  she  did  n't.  A  long 
time  ago,  before  he  came  to  work  for  the 
Boss,  Lem  was  a  dreadful  drunkard.  He 
beat  Mary  Alice  and  her  mother  and  threat- 
ened to  kill  little  Dick.  Then  he  was  put  in 
jail.  When  he  got  out,  father  took  him  and 
brought  him  home  and  redeemed  him  with  — 
well,  the  Boss  says  with  love  and  a  square- 
toed  boot. 

"The  Boss  and  mother  have  got  it  all  fig- 
ured out.  Francis  offered  Lem  a  drink;  Lem 
would  n't  drink;  Francis  put  the  whisky  in  the 
dipper  when  Lem's  back  was  turned;  and 
Lem  was  so  hot  and  thirsty  he  just  drank  it 
right  down  without  noticing,  and  then  it  was 
too  late.  Lem  realized  what  it  meant  —  the 
thing  that  Francis  intended  for  a  joke.  It 
wasn't  a  joke  to  him;  it  meant  ruin  and 
disgrace.  He  got  terrible  mad  and  threw  the 


336  LITTLE   SIR  GALAHAD 

bucket  at  Francis.  He  did  n't  know  whether 
he  was  going  to  hit  him  or  not ;  he  did  n't 
wait  to  see,  but  turned  and  ran  away. 

"Lem  Brown  has  been  so  good  and  hard- 
working for  six  or  seven  years!  He  saved  up 
his  money,  and  the  Boss  says  he's  been  a 
real  man.  Now  it  must  all  be  done  over,  if 
it  can  be  done  at  all.  We  don't  even  know 
where  he  —  " 

The  sitting-room  door  opened  and  Doctor 
Billy  came  out.  In  his  eyes  flamed  that  al- 
most fanatic  light  which  marked  him  for  what 
he  was.  Mrs.  Willett  followed  close  behind, 
grief  and  hope  struggling  for  the  mastery  in 
her  haggard  face. 

"Doctor  Glenn  agrees  with  me  that  there 
is  a  chance,"  said  Jackson,  "if  we  operate  at 
once.  Don't  get  your  hopes  up ;  we  '11  do  our 
best.  What  do  you  say ?" 

"There  is  only  one  answer  to  give  you, 
Billy,"  said  Willett.  "Don't  you  agree, 
Anna?" 

"There  is  only  one  answer,"  replied  the 
woman.  She  went  and  hid  her  face  on  her 
husband's  breast. 

"All  we've  got,  dear,  all  we've  got;  they 


LIVES  AND  SOULS  337 

must  save  him.    And  Charlie-boy  says  they 
will;  that's  my  only  hope." 

Jackson  and  Glenn  and  two  nurses  were 
at  work  upon  Francis  Willett's  damaged  head, 
when  Sam  Thomas  thrust  his  face  in  at  the 
kitchen  door. 

"Come  out  here,  everybody  that  can,"  he 
said.  "Quick!" 

Everybody  hurried  into  the  yard. 

"Now  get  busy,"  said  Sam;  "the  barn's 
on  fire!  You've  got  to  save  the  barn  or 
you'll  lose  your  patient,  doctors  or  no  doc- 
tors. If  the  barn  goes,  the  house  11  go,  and 
that 's  no  dream.  My  land !  I  wish  I  had  Lem 
here.  He 's  as  good 's  a  whole  army.  Charlie, 
show  Mr.  Willett  how  the  hose  works." 

Sam's  fire  precautions  were  far  more 
adequate  than  those  on  most  farms.  Every- 
body fell  to  and  helped.  There  were  ladders 
to  be  raised  and  two  or  three  lines  of  hose  to 
be  run,  the  horses  to  be  led  out,  something 
for  everybody  to  do.  In  five  minutes  water 
poured  into  the  burning  building.  In  fifteen 
minutes  Sam  said  the  barn  would  be  saved. 
In  half  an  hour  the  fire  was  reduced  to  a  few 
shreds  of  smoke. 


338  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

"I'm  goin'  to  find  out  what  started  it," 
said  Sam.  He  disappeared  with  his  lantern 
through  the  great  doors.  Then  they  heard 
him  shout:  "Mr.  Willett,  you  and  that 
driver  of  yours  come  here,  quick!" 

Martha,  Charlie,  and  Mary  Alice  were 
standing  watching,  but  Mrs.  Willett  had 
slipped  back  into  the  house.  She  reappeared 
and  called:  "Oh,  where  is  my  husband? 
Where  is  John?  Tell  him  to  come  quickly! 
The  doctors  have  finished;  they  say  our  boy 
will  live." 

In  the  barn  doorway  appeared  Sam  and 
the  Willetts'  chauffeur,  carrying  the  great 
hulk  of  Lem  Brown,  while  Willett  lighted  the 
way  with  the  lantern.  Mary  Alice  screamed 
and  ran  forward.  Mrs.  Willett  came  on, 
quite  uncomprehending,  in  the  exultation  of 
her  own  good  tidings,  that  new  tragedy. 

"He  will  live,  he  will  live,"  she  was  saying. 
"Francis  will  live." 

"All  right,"  said  Sam  Thomas,  bluntly. 
"Now  tell  them  doctors  to  get  busy  and  save 
Lem.  He  ain't  such  a  bad  feller,  after  all. 
He  set  that  fire,  and  by  gorry,  I  want  him 
here  to  help  repair  the  damage!" 


CHAPTER  XXV 

THE   LIGHT   OF   DAWN 

DOCTOR  BILLY  sat  with  John  Willett  in  the 
latter 's  library.  Between  them  on  the  table 
stood  the  big  cups  just  drained  of  strong  black 
coffee  which  Willett  had  brewed  on  their 
return  from  the  farm. 

"One  would  say  the  events  of  this  night 
could  hardly  have  been  crowded  into  a  week," 
said  Willett.  He  got  up  and  went  to  the 
window.  Dawn  was  breaking,  hesitantly. 
The  virgin  air  of  the  new  day  crept  past  him 
into  the  room,  while,  in  the  somnolent  houses 
that  lined  the  street,  his  neighbors  slept. 
As  Willett  stood  there,  conscious  of  the  gray- 
ness  and  stillness,  sensitive  to  the  almost 
palpitant  mystery  of  that  twilight,  he  became 
aware  of  a  warm  suffusion  of  color,  pale  and 
golden,  turning  the  pallor  of  dawn  into  a  soft 
and  velvety  haze,  which  passed  swiftly  and 

339 


340  LITTLE   SIR  GALAHAD 

merged  into  the  sharper  gleams  and  shadows 
of  the  ruddy  morning. 

"It  is  always  so,"  he  said,  coming  back'to 
his  chair.  "Critical  events  slip  so  rapidly  into 
the  past.  Yesterday  is  already  far  behind." 

"It  must  be  so,"  rejoined  Doctor  Jackson, 
"in  order  that  we  may  look  more  clearly 
to  the  future."  He  met  his  friend's  eye  with 
a  cheery  and  beautiful  smile.  His  face, 
lined  with  fatigue,  was  yet  very  gentle. 

"You're  a  great  comfort  to  me,  Billy," 
said  Willett.  "Confidence  and  courage  ra- 
diate from  you  like  —  like  the  new  morning 
outside.  Are  n't  you  tired  out?  Or  sleepy? 
You  ought  to  go  to  bed  for  a  few  hours." 

"No,  I'll  have  a  cool  bath  and  fresh  linen. 
I  'd  better  take  that  early  train  east ;  you  know 
I  meant  to  leave  on  the  midnight.  I'll  be 
all  right;  doctors  don't  mind  losing  sleep." 

"I'm  not  at  all  sleepy  myself,"  said  Wil- 
lett. "I  suppose  the  excitement — " 

"That's  it,  and  the  coffee.  The  ride  home 
was  mighty  refreshing.  What  a  night  it 
has  been!  It  was  kind  of  you  to  bring  me 
here.  I  could  have  come  alone,  and  you 
need  n't  have  left  Mrs.  Willett." 


THE  LIGHT  OF  DAWN  341 

"I  wanted  to  come.  I  wanted  to  get  away 
for  a  little  while,  though  I  should  have  stayed 
if  Anna  had  been  willing  to  leave  Francis. 
I'll  go  back  after  a  time.  Billy,  I'm  so 
thankful  you  were  able  to  do  what  you  did 
for  poor  Lem.  At  first  I  was  bitter;  I  could 
have  killed  him.  Do  you  know  what  I 
found  out?" 

"To  change  your  feeling?    No." 

"Francis  was  responsible  for  what  Lem 
did.  He  put  liquor  in  Lem's  drinking-water; 
he  poisoned  him.  Do  you  understand?" 

"You  mean  that  Lem  had  been  an  al- 
coholic?" 

"Yes,  and  he  had  kept  straight  for  over 
six  years.  Sam  tells  me  there  never  was  a 
more  seemingly  hopeless  case.  He  took  Lem 
and  built  him  back  to  manhood.  Volunta- 
rily the  poor  fellow  would  never  have  tasted 
drink  again.  Realizing  that  he  had  unwit- 
tingly, and  through  no  fault  of  his  own, 
undone  the  work  of  those  years,  he  became 
violently  angry  and  threw  the  bucket  at  the 
man  who,  in  wanton  mischief,  had  betrayed 
him.  When  he  had  been  away  for  three 
days,  about  his  old  haunts  in  Sheffield,  he 


342  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

wandered  back  to  Thomas's  and  went  to 
sleep  in  the  barn.  Probably  the  fire  was 
caused  by  a  spark  from  his  pipe.  Can't  you 
see,  if  Lem  had  not  been  saved,  what  a  posi- 
tion it  would  have  put  my  boy  in?  Even  now 
are  you  sure  — -" 

"Lem  will  recover,  John,  though  he  is  a 
badly  injured  man.  Nearly  suffocated, 
burned,  and  hurt  by  a  falling  timber,  with  an 
ordinary  physique  it  would  have  been  the 
end.  But  I  'm  quite  sure  he  will  pull  through. 
And  as  he  will  be  laid  up  a  long  time,  I  think 
his  friends  need  not  be  uneasy  about  the  re- 
currence of  the  liquor  craving.  So  his  injury 
is  not  an  unmixed  blessing." 

"Billy,"  said  Willett,  "do  you  know,  I 
have  lately  been  reminded  of  something  a 
friend  said  to  me  many  years  ago?  It  was 
that  the  man  who  had  felt  the  blight  of  in- 
temperance personally  made  the  real  fighter 
against  the  liquor  business.  That  remark 
has  come  back  to  me  with  the  force  of  a 
blow." 

Doctor  Billy  made  no  immediate  reply,  but 
sat  staring  thoughtfully  before  him.  Then 
he  took  off  his  big,  shell-rimmed  spectacles 


THE  LIGHT  OF  DAWN  343 

and  polished  them  with  critical  attention, 
as  if  the  work  were  of  the  utmost  importance. 

"John,"  he  said  presently,  "that's  your 
answer." 

"My  answer?" 

"Last  night  you  kept  asking,  all  the  way 
out  to  the  farm,  'Why,  why?'  Don't  you 
remember?" 

"Yes,  I  remember.    But — " 

"Do  you  think,"  asked  Doctor  Billy,  "that 
I  should  be  kind  if  I  spoke  very  frankly  to 
you  at  a  time  like  this?  Or  do  you  think  it 
would  be  hitting  a  man  who  is  down?" 

"Perhaps,  my  friend,  it  would  be  the  kind- 
est thing  you  could  do.  I  am  sure  it  would. 
Go  on." 

"Well,  then,  you  will  be  surprised  when  I 
say  that  you  are  in  a  way  personally  respon- 
sible, more  than  even  Francis  or  Lem,  for  the 
unhappy  occurrences  of  the  last  few  days." 

"I  —  responsible?    How  do  you  — " 

"I  remember  that  campaign  here  in  Shef- 
field, six  years  ago.  I  remember  you  went  to 
Europe,  and  I  heard  that  a  few  people  were 
bold  enough  to  say  that  —  well,  if  you  had 
stayed  at  home  the  result  would  have  been 


344  LITTLE   SIR  GALAHAD 

different.  This  may  or  may  not  be  true; 
but  so  much  is  true:  if  you  had  been  deeply 
concerned  for  the  outcome,  you  never  would 
have  gone." 

''But  my  opposition  to  license,  my  vote 
against  it,  has  been  no  secret.  I  have  always 
contributed  liberally;  in  fact,  that  very  year 
I  doubled  my  usual  contribution.  How  can 
you—" 

Willett  looked  as  puzzled  as  a  child.  He 
was  hurt,  even  a  little  offended,  or  as  much 
so  as  one  could  well  be  with  Billy  Jackson. 

"You  are,"  said  Jackson,  "what  might  be 
called  a  bad,  good  man." 

"A  bad,  good—" 

"This  splendid  country  of  ours  is  teeming 
with  men  like  you.  You  are  the  despair  of 
the  community.  There  seems  to  be  no  argu- 
ment that  can  reach  your  hardness  of  heart 
until  it  is  touched  by  some  great  personal 
grief." 

John  Willett,  whose  heart  was  so  tender 
that  it  sometimes  hurt  him,  said  not  a  word. 
He  stared  straight  before  him  at  some 
quite  impertinent  object  on  the  mantel, 
but  he  did  not  see  it.  What  he  did  see  was  a 


THE  LIGHT  OF  DAWN  345 

bandaged  head  and  a  pale  face  on  a  pillow, 
with  a  mother  bending  over  it  in  an  agony  of 
misery  and  hope.  Did  he  do  that?  Had  he 
struck  that  blow?  He  groaned  with  the  pain 
of  conviction  that  Doctor  Billy  was  right. 

Yes,  Doctor  Billy  was  perhaps  more  nearly 
right  than  he  himself  realized.  A  part  of 
the  profit  on  the  very  poison  which  had 
caused  this  thing  might  be  his,  since  it  had 
most  likely  been  bought  at  the  Waldemere. 

"  It  is  —  like  —  striking  a  man  when  —  he 
is  —  down,"  he  said.  " But  —  go  on! " 

"I  hate  to  preach,"  said  the  physician; 
"but  no  one  more  than  the  doctor  realizes 
the  insidiousness  of  this  evil.  It  not  only 
destroys  those  who  drink  it,  but  demoralizes 
those  who  do  not.  It  lowers  the  whole  tone 
of  the  community.  An  intoxicated  man  is 
no  curiosity.  Even  the  children  on  the 
streets  will  not  turn  to  look  a  second  time  at 
him.  He's  the  regular  thing  in  most  cities. 

"Your  boy  —  not  alone  yours,  but  every 
boy  in  the  community  —  grows  up  to  see 
men  like  you,  good  men,  honored  men,  men  of 
prosperity  and  influence,  wink  at  this  thing. 
You  salve  your  conscience  by  a  single  vote 


346  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

once  a  year  and  perhaps  a  check.  You  say  to 
yourself  that  you  have  done  your  duty,  that 
you  have  expressed  your  preference  for  the 
right  thing,  that  you  have  set  a  good  example. 
"You  don't  drink;  you  don't  want  your 
boy  to  do  so;  but  you,  or  most  men  like  you, 
often  say  you  'have  no  objection  to  a  man's 
drinking  moderately,  if  he  knows  how  to 
handle  it.'  Let  me  tell  you  something  that 
I  learned  six  years  ago.  The  reason  that 
beautiful  child,  Sam  Thomas's  boy,  whom 
we  call  'Little  Sir  Galahad,'  was  a  cripple, 
and  will  remain  partly  so  all  his  life,  is 
that  his  father,  a  moderate  drinker,  dropped 
him  and  injured  him  while  playing  with  him 
recklessly.  Sam  was  only  jovially  stimulated, 
but  made  careless.  He  came  home  from 
town  and  began  playing  with  his  baby.  His 
wife  looked  on  with  that  little  nervous  fear 
which  mothers  always  have  when  they  see 
their  children  tossed  in  the  air.  Sam  was 
simply  bubbling  over  with  high  spirits,  with 
enjoyment  of  the  little  fellow's  excitement, 
when  —  well,  years  of  agony  resulted.  For 
the  child,  paralysis  through  an  obscure 
spinal  pressure;  for  the  father,  unending,  tor- 


THE  LIGHT  OF  DAWN  347 

turing  remorse;  for  the  mother,  the  constant 
struggle  to  live  down  her  deadly  condemna- 
tion of  her  husband,  to  go  on  and  on  and 
never  let  him  know  she  blamed  him. 

"Then  take  the  other  extreme,  where  the 
effect  of  intoxication  is  brutal,  dulling  every 
finer  sense,  making  a  cowardly,  cruel  beast  of 
a  man.  Doubtless  your  friend  Lem  was  so 
affected." 

"Yes,  I  have  heard  so,"  said  Willett. 

"It's  all  been  gone  over  so  many,  many 
times,"  said  Doctor  Billy,  sadly.  "  There  is  no 
new  argument;  the  whole  question  has  been 
threshed  out  and  out  and  out.  Yet  whole 
communities  go  on  poisoning  themselves. 
The  Chinese  government,  whose  civilization 
we  presume  to  scorn,  has  forbidden  its  people 
to  drug  themselves  with  opium;  the  Moham- 
medans, whom  we  regard  as  heathen  and 
barbarians,  are  forbidden  by  the  law  of  their 
faith  to  use  alcohol,  and  they  are  singularly 
free  from  the  curse.  But  we,  in  civilized, 
Christian  America,  allow  this  daily  temptation 
to  surround  our  children ;  and  it  is  the  '  good ' 
people  of  the  community,  the  exemplary 
citizens,  like  you,  John,  who  are,  in  their  • 


348  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

enlightenment,  more  guilty  than  the  very 
makers  and  sellers  of  it,  because  you  can 
stop  it  and  won't. 

"Forgive  me,  if  I  have  hurt  you  so  terribly, 
John.  But  I  am  a  surgeon;  it  is  my  business 
to  hurt  people,  I  am  sorry  to  say.  Thank 
God  it  is  often  through  that  hurt  that  they 
are  made  whole." 

Doctor  Billy  stopped,  sank  his  face  in  his 
hands,  and  seemed  to  suffer  from  the  pain 
he  had  inflicted.  But  John  Willett  stood 
quite  erect,  his  gray,  careworn  face  lighted 
up  with  a  kindling  and  sublime  hope.  He 
advanced  toward  his  old  friend,  his  hand  out- 
stretched; and  as  Doctor  Billy  looked  up,  the 
morning  sun  burst  into  the  dim  room,  flooding 
it  with  the  promise  of  a  new  day. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

THE   MYSTERIOUS   CARTOONIST 

THE  spring  campaign  was  on  once  more,  and 
again  Amos  Stubbs  sat  in  the  saddle.  For 
several  years  the  cause  of  no-license  had  lan- 
guished, but  the  Napoleonic  Stubbs  returned 
from  the  Elba  of  the  slums,  where  he  had 
gone  to  await  the  psychological  moment  and 
labor  while  he  waited. 

"You'll  have  to  take  your  hat  off  to 
Stubbs,"  remarked  a  leader  of  the  license 
forces.  "  I  guess  he 's  got  us  fellers  beaten  this 
trip.  He's  done  what  he  could  n't  do  before 
-  got  John  Willett  into  the  fight  personally. 
You  know  that  means  a  whole  lot  of  votes. 
Folks '11  do  anything  they  see  John  Willett 
do.  He 's  actually  workin'  —  usin'  every 
ounce  of  influence  he's  got  to  beat  us.  I 
guess  it'll  cost  him  money,  for  he's  a  big 
stockholder  in  the  Waldemere,  and  it  can't 
run  at  a  profit  unless  it  has  a  liquor  license. 

349 


350  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

"But  the  thing  that  scares  me  worse 'n 
anything  is  them  cartoons  in  the  Even1  in' 
View.  The  other  night  they  had  my  face  on 
the  front  page.  Now  I'm  a  fair-dealin'  man 
and  good  to  my  family,  but  I  leave  it  to 
anybody  if  an  impartial  judge  would  n't  send 
me  to  jail  for  life  if  he  got  a  look  at  that  pic- 
ture. And  the  queer  part  of  it  is,  every  time 
I  look  at  it,  I  have  a  sneakin'  notion  that  if 
the  inside  of  my  soul  was  turned  up  to  the 
sun,  maybe  that  same  drawin'  would  n't 
be  so  far  wrong,  at  that.  I  wonder  who's 
the  mysterious  cartoonist,  anyhow." 

Rodney  Jones  had  made  good.  At  the 
opening  of  the  campaign,  the  View  reporter 
had  stepped  out  of  the  elevator  at  the  top 
floor  of  Minot  House. 

"Don't  you  remember  me?"  he  asked, 
when  he  had  found  Charlie  Thomas,  who  was 
busily  delving  into  the  utilities  of  a  set  of 
water-color  paints. 

"Why,  yes;  you're  Mr.  Jones,  of  the 
View." 

Charlie  held  out  his  hand:  then,  in  some 
embarrassment,  he  said: 

"The  reason  I  remember  you  is  because  I 


THE   MYSTERIOUS  CARTOONIST       351 

was  —  I  was  pretty  mean  to  you  the  other 
time  you  came  here.  I  've  always  been  sorry 
for  that  silly  picture.  I  guess  I  hurt  your 
feelings  pretty  bad." 

"Yes,  that's  right,  you  did,"  said  Rodney 
Jones.  "  But  you  know  a  lot  of  people  believe 
it's  only  the  bad-tasting  medicine  that  does 
any  good.  That  portrait  of  me  was  a  bitter 
pill,  but  I  swallowed  it  and  kept  on  trying  to 
smile.  I  wonder  how  that  little  pencil  of 
yours  is  working  to-day.  I  want  another  pic- 
ture of  me,  as  I  am,  or  hope  I  am." 

Charlie  picked  up  his  charcoal  holder  and 
made  some  bold  lines  on  a  large  piece  of  draw- 
ing paper. 

"How  is  that?"  he  asked.  Jones  marveled 
at  the  ease  with  which  the  result  was  pro- 
duced. Nowhere  was  there  a  superfluous  line, 
yet  everything  essential  was  in  the  picture. 
When  he  saw  it,  he  grinned  with  delight. 
Then  he  pulled  from  his  pocket  the  original 
likeness,  made  a  year  ago  and  compared  the 
two. 

"Maybe  I  haven't  improved  a  little, 
though,"  he  said.  "Do  you  know,\that's 
cost  me  some  hard  work.  Now  I've  got  the 


352  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

habit  of  trying,  I'm  going  right  on  with  the 
improvements  as  fast  as  I  can;  and  each 
year  I'm  going  to  ask  you  to  draw  my  pic- 
ture, until  finally  that  pencil  of  yours  just 
naturally  hitches  on  my  wings  and  I  fly  away." 

Then  his  face  grew  very  earnest,  and  he 
began  to  talk  to  the  young  art  student  with 
a  certain  note  of  persuasion. 

"Let's  ask  your  friend  McGregor,"  said 
Jones,  after  a  few  minutes  of  spirited  argu- 
ment. 

"It's  a  splendid  opportunity,"  said 
McGregor,  heartily.  "Mr.  Jones,  your  paper 
is  doing  a  great  work.  This  year  we  '11  surely 
put  the  liquor  people  out  of  business.  If 
Thomas  does  what  you  ask,  it  will  be  the  fin- 
ishing blow.  I'm  convinced  of  it.  Young 
man,  if  you  want  to  serve  this  city,  to  do  a 
really  big  thing,  you  will  make  those  pictures." 

"All  right,"  said  Charlie;  "but  I  hate  to 
hurt  so  many  people's  feelings." 

"But  remember  the  feelings  that  are  hurt 
when  two  or  three  hundred  men  go  home 
every  night  in  this  town,  after  spending  in  the 
saloons  the  money  that  rightly  belongs  to 
their  wives  and  children." 


THE  MYSTERIOUS  CARTOONIST       353 

"That's  certainly  so,"  said  Charlie,  and 
his  young  jaw  set  firmly,  while  the  light  of 
righteous  battle  gleamed  in  his  blue  eyes. 

The  leader  of  the  license  forces  was  re- 
ferring to  Charlie  Thomas's  cartoons  in  the 
View,  when  he  complained  to  his  friend  that 
the  license  cause  was  as  bad  as  lost.  On 
the  day  on  which  the  first  picture  appeared, 
the  entire  city  rocked  with  laughter.  Then 
the  city  stopped  laughing  and  grew  serious. 
What  kind  of  soul  was  it  that  looked  out  from 
behind  that  ridiculous  mask?  Was  it  funny? 
Was  it  a  joke  to  realize  that  Sheffield  was 
governed  by  that  type  of  man,  whose  sinister 
personality  was  now,  in  this  simple  picture, 
stripped  naked  for  examination  and  analysis? 

Another  prominent  citizen  appeared  the 
next  day,  and  another,  and  another.  The 
politicians  who  had  so  far  escaped  began  to 
shiver  whenever  a  new  edition  of  the  View 
appeared  on  the  street.  The  question  was 
always:  "Who'll  be  next?"  There  always 
was  a  "next,"  and  as  soon  as  a  man  saw 
himself  held  up  to  the  ridicule  and  contempt 
of  his  townspeople,  he  realized  that  his  days 
of  political  power  were  numbered. 


354  LITTLE   SIR  GALAHAD 

Charlie  Thomas  did  n't  have  to  see  his 
subjects  in  person.  He  drew  from  photo- 
graphs. He  did  not  miss  fire  once;  nor  was  it 
necessary  for  him  to  confine  himself  to  por- 
traiture. Now  and  again  he  made  a  picture 
of  a  home  that  drink  had  ruined,  of  pitiful 
children,  of  forlorn  women.  People  studied 
these  pictures  and  cried;  then  they  went  sav- 
agely to  the  polls  and  drove  a  nail  into  the 
coffin  of  the  liquor  business  in  Sheffield.  After 
election  the  mound  of  votes  on  the  grave  of 
the  enemy  was  so  high,  as  the  jubilant  Jones 
announced  in  the  Evening  View,  that  it  could 
be  surmounted  only  by  aid  of  a  fireman's 
ladder. 

"And  there's  only  one  more  picture  for 
you  to  draw,  good  old  boy,"  said  Jones,  on 
the  day  after  the  obsequies.  "You've  been 
doing  some  great  work;  but  it's  been  so  uni- 
formly negative,  I'm  thinking  the  public 
would  be  delighted  with  the  portrait  of  a  real 
good  citizen  —  one  whose  soul  will  bear  ex- 
posure to  the  light.  Let's  run  John  Willett's 
picture  to-morrow.  He 's  been  stanch  through 
it  all,  put  his  money,  brains,  and  influence 
into  the  scales,  and  is  the  one  man  who  de- 


THE  MYSTERIOUS  CARTOONIST       355 

serves  the  thanks  of  this  community.  His 
personal  interests  have  been  sacrificed  for 
he  is  thousands  of  dollars  poorer  to-day  than 
he  was  yesterday.  For  instance,  his  stock  in 
the  Waldemere  is  probably  cut  in  half.  But 
Willett's  true  blue;  let's  run  his  picture!" 

Jones  produced  a  photograph  of  John  Wil- 
lett,  and  Charlie  set  to  work.  Jones,  standing 
at  his  elbow,  frowned. 

"Hold  on,  boy,"  he  said,  "you're  getting  all 
mixed  up.  This  is  John  Willett  you're  draw- 
ing, not  Simon  Legree.  Say,  it  'd  never  do  to 
print  that." 

Charlie  surveyed  his  handiwork  with  hor- 
ror. His  picture  of  John  Willett  equaled  in 
the  unpleasant  quality  of  its  revelation  almost 
any  that  he  had  done  during  the  campaign. 
Dominating  the  caricatured  features  was 
Selfishness,  a  refined,  subtle,  and  indifferent 
Selfishness.  It  was  not  hoggish  —  no,  it  was 
nothing  so  frank  as  that.  But  the  menace 
was  there,  unspeakably  terrible.  Charlie  cov- 
ered his  face  with  his  hands. 

"Oh,  Jonesy,"  he  cried,  "you  couldn't 
use  that;  you  could  n't  use  that.  Why,  Mr. 
Willett 's  one  of  my  very  best  friends."  He 
sat  and  pondered  a  long  time. 


356  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

"I  will  get  you  a  picture  of  Mr.  Willett," 
he  said.  "You  wait  here,  Jonesy." 

He  hitched  briskly  away,  although  the 
defect  in  his  gait  was  notably  diminished. 
In  ten  minutes  he  was  in  John  Willett's 
office. 

A  man  sat  at  John  Willett's  desk,  a  man 
with  gray  at  his  temples  and  deep,  haggard 
lines  in  his  face.  Gray  streaks  appeared,  too, 
in  his  closely  trimmed  beard,  but  his  eyes 
laughed  when  he  greeted  Charlie  Thomas. 

"Hello,  Little  Sir  Galahad,"  he  said. 
"How  goes  the  Quest  to-day?"  * 

"I  think  we  gained  a  few  steps  yesterday," 
said  the  boy. 

"I  should  say  we  did,"  cried  John  Willett. 
"Say,  young  fellow,  what  are  you  doing?" 

"Drawing  your  picture,  for  to-morrow's 
Vim.91 

"What's  that?  You  young  imp,  are  you 
going  to  —  Look  here,  Charlie-boy.  How 
many  people  know  you  are  the  mysterious 
cartoonist?  There  are  men  in  this  town  who 
would  be  delighted  to  skin  you." 

"Only  three  or  four  people  know  it,  and 
they  '11  never  tell.  I  'm  afraid  I  've  hurt  a  lot 


THE   MYSTERIOUS  CARTOONIST       357 

of  feelings.  It's  dreadful  to  know  that  you 
have  done  that." 

"I  used  to  think  so,  too,  Charlie;  but  this 
thing  we  have  been  fighting  has  hurt  your 
feelings  and  mine,  has  n't  it?  We  don't  regret 
the  results,  do  we,  boy?  " 

"Nope,"  said  Charlie.  "There,  that's 
better." 

He  drew  out  the  sketch  he  had  made  from 
the  photograph  of  a  John  Willett  six  years 
younger;  a  jaunty,  care-free,  indulgent  John 
Willett. 

"Murder!"  cried  Willett.  "You  don't  say 
I  ever  looked  like  that?" 

"Your  soul  used  to,  I  guess,"  said  Charlie; 
"but  it  doesn't  now.  The  picture  in  to- 
morrow's paper  '11  suit  you  better." 

"I'll  never  get  over  this,  Charlie,"  said 
Willett.  "It  isn't  the  sketch  that  hurts; 
it's  knowing  that  I  can't  deny  the  truth  of 
it.  No  man  can  look  at  one  of  your  por- 
traits of  himself  and  say  truly  that  it  does 
not  reveal  his  soul.  So  you  are  going  to 
have  my  picture  in  to-morrow's  paper?  I 
hope  there's  a  little  improvement,  anyhow. 
Suppose  you  let  me  see  it." 


358  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

But  Charlie  was  gone;  and  next  day,  when 
people  got  the  View,  they  nodded  sagely  and 
commented : 

"That's  just  like  John.  He  always  was  a 
fine  man ;  this  proves  it.  He 's  aged  lately,  but 
he  does  n't  lose  character.  That  certainly  is 
our  own  John  Willett,  the  one  who's  always 
been  our  most  useful,  public-spirited  citizen." 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

TWO  YEARS   LATER 

DOCTOR  BILLY  JACKSON  swung  down  from 
the  parlor-car  step  as  the  evening  train  from 
New  York  slid  into  the  Sheffield  station.  He 
bustled  off  through  the  gate  with  his  quick, 
nervous  step,  across  the  gloomy  concourse, 
and  out  through  the  street  entrance.  Among 
the  automobiles  lining  the  curb  he  saw  John 
Willett's. 

"Good  evening,  Jules,"  he  cried  cheerily. 
"How  are  all  the  good  people  up  on  Clipper 
Hill?" 

"Fine,  sir,"  replied  the  chauffeur,  touching 
his  cap.  "Want  to  go  right  up  to  the  house, 
sir?" 

"Sooner  the  better,  Jules.  Any  excitement 
there?" 

"Well,  sir,  I  don't  know  as  you'd  rightly 
call  it  excitement ;  but  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Willett  's 
got  quite  a  lot  of  company  to  dinner,  and  I 

359 


360  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

guess  you  know  why,  all  right.  I  heard  Mr. 
Willett  say  to  Mr.  Francis  it  was  too  bad 
Doctor  Billy  —  begging  your  pardon,  sir  — 
could  n't  be  there  to  eat  with  them,  sir." 

Doctor  Jackson  chuckled.  "If  they  only 
knew  how  lucky  I  am  to  get  here  at  all,"  he 
said. 

"Yes,   sir,"   agreed  Jules.     "Quite  right, 


sir." 


The  guests  at  the  Willett  dinner  table  that 
night  had  broken  into  groups  when  the  meal 
was  finished,  and  now,  in  a  corner  of  the  big 
library,  Sam  was  talking  earnestly  with 
John  Willett,  while  Lem  Brown  sat  close  by, 
saying  nothing,  listening  with  all  his  ears, 
and  occasionally  grinning  sheepishly. 

"By  gosh,  Mr.  Willett,  it's  just  as  I  tell 
you,"  Sam  was  saying.  "I  dunno  how  ever 
he  thought  of  it.  I've  been  noticin'  him  all 
winter,  fussin'  and  fussin'  with  them  gears, 
and  once'n  a  while  I'd  want  to  know  what 
in  time  he  was  tryin'  to  do.  Would  n't  I, 
Lem?" 

"Uh-huh,"  confirmed  Lem. 

"And  then  after  a  while  him  and  Charlie 


TWO  YEARS  LATER  361 

got  their  heads  together,  and  then  Charlie 
come  fetchin'  home  a  lot  of  that  transparent, 
shiny  cloth  —  ' 

"Tracin'  cloth,"  put  in  Lem. 

"Tracin'  cloth,  I  guess  it  is.  And  they 
fussed  and  puzzled  out  in  the  shop  nights, 
and  every  time  I'd  come  near  they'd  look 
sort  of  foolish  and  guilty,  like  they'd  stole  a 
sheep.  So  I  see  they  had  a  hen  on  and  let 
'em  be." 

"Charlie  did  most  of  the  work,"  said  Lem. 
"It  was  his  brains  —  " 

"Now  that  ain't  so,  Mr.  Willett.  Charlie 
made  the  drawin's  with  some  help  he  got 
from  the  engineerin*  perfessor  at  Minot,  but 
the  whole  idea  was  Lem's  from  the  beginnin'. 
It's  clever,  that's  what  it  is,  plumb  clever, 
Mr.  Willett.  Since  Lem  put  it  on  our  sep- 
arators, we're  averagin'  to  get  around  eight 
per  cent  more  butter  fat  out  of  every  gallon 
of  cream  we  skim ;  and  that  makes  a  lot  of 
difference  in  the  profits  of  any  dairy,  believe 
me. 

"And  say,  Mr.  Willett,  I  haven't  told 
anybody  yet;  but  beginnin'  to-day  I  and 
Lem  are  partners,  share  and  share  alike.  We 


362  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

fixed  up  the  papers,  and  he  gets  half  my  farm 
and  dairy  business,  while  I  get  a  half  interest 
in  this  new  separator  patent  of  Lem's.  I'm 
goin'  to  put  up  what  money's  necessary  to 
start  makin'  a  few  of  these  attachments,  then, 
if  it  grows  too  fast  for  me  —  " 

Mr.  Willett's  eyes  twinkled  shrewdly. 

"If  it  grows  too  fast,  you  may  let  in  a  little 
outside  capital,  eh?" 

"You  said  somethin',  Mr.  Willett,"  con- 
firmed Sam.  "Gosh!  Will  you  listen  to  how 
fast  those  women  folks  are  talkin'?  Can 
you  beat  it?" 

"You  see,"  Mrs.  Brown  was  explaining  to 
Martha  Thomas  and  Mrs.  John  Willett,  "it 
took  me  three  years  to  get  it  to  suit  me. 
And  it's  not  only  the  seeds,  but  the  soil  and 
the  moisture  and  the  sunlight.  Well,  there's 
a  little  book  called  'Trask's  Old-Fashioned 
Gardener'  that  Mary  Alice  brought  me.  I 'm 
sure  I  don't  know  what  I  should  have  done 
without  it.  The  first  time  you're  out  our 
way,  Mrs.  Willett,  I'll  let  you  take  it;  it's 
wonderful.  Next  week  I  'm  going  to  do  a  lot 
of  thinning.  If  you  want  some  plants, 
there  '11  be  quite  a  lot,  especially  the  peonies. 


TWO  YEAES  LATER  363 

Don't  you  love  peonies?  But,  goodness  me, 
I  s'pose  your  gardener  'tends  to  all  —  " 

"Oh,  no,"  said  Mrs.  Willett,  "a  gardener's 
garden  would  n't  suit  me  at  all.  I  do  every 
bit  of  the  work  myself,  except  the  heavy 
spading.  I  think  flowers  are  like  children  — 
you  admire  other  people's,  but  you  love  your 
own.  There  is  n't  a  plant  in  my  garden  that 
I  did  n't  set  out  myself.  You  are  right  about 
Trask,  too.  I've  had  the  book  for  years. 
I  should  n't  be  surprised  if  Mary  Alice  heard 
of  it  through  Francis." 

"Well,  now,  when  I  think  of  it,  I  guess  she 
said  she  did.  Of  course  anything  that  Francis 
recommended  would  be  just  about  right  with 
Mary  Alice  —  " 

"It  would  be  about  right  with  all  of  us," 
said  Martha  Thomas.  "Sam  says  he  heard 
someone  say  the  other  day  that  Mr.  Stacey 
has  turned  over  almost  the  whole  manage- 
ment of  the  store  to  Francis  since  he 's 
been  made  a  partner  —  " 

"Oh,  that  isn't  quite  true,"  said  Mrs. 
Willett.  "Francis  has  a  lot  to  do  with  what 
he  calls  the  'merchandising  end,'  but  Mr. 
Stacey  handles  all  the  finances.  You  could  n't 


364  LITTLE   SIR  GALAHAD 

expect  anybody  with  Francis's  experience,  or 
lack  of  it,  to  —  " 

"Hey,  Francis,"  came  a  shrill  voice  from 
an  angle  of  the  bookcases,  " look-a-here.  I've 
found  the  books  you  used  to  read  when  you 
was  a  kid  like  me.  Here's  Oliveroptic  and 
'Ratieralgio  and  Jeeayhenty  and  a  whole  pile 
of  Zigzags  and  Lweezeralcott.  Say,  will  you 
lend  me  some  of  'em  sometimes  if  I  bring  'em 
back  and  don't  turn  down  the  leaves  and 
Charlie  Thomas  he  '11  read  'em  to  me  —  the 
ones  I  can't  read  myself  and  so  will  Mary 
Alice,  won't  you,  Mary  Alice?" 

"Dicky,"  cried  Mary  Alice,  "don't  shout 
so,  dear.  We're  not  deaf,  you  know." 

"Well,  you  were  all  talkin'  so  fast  I  had 
to  holler  to  make  you  hear.  Say,  is  Jules 
goin'  to  take  us  home  in  the  auto,  or  will  we 
go  on  the  trolley?" 

"Never  mind,"  said  Mary  Alice,  severely. 

"Look,  Mary  Alice,"  said  Francis,  "the 
two  years  are  up."  He  held  his  watch  toward 
her,  and  she  saw  that  it  marked  exactly 
eight-fifteen.  The  girl  was  sitting  on  a  big 
leather-covered  divan,  Francis  on  one  side  of 
her,  Charlie  Thomas  on  the  other.  The  three 


TWO  YEARS  LATER  365 

had  been  quite  oblivious  to  the  clatter  of 
tongues  about  them  until  little  Dick's  shrill 
inquiry  had  cut  through  the  wall  of  their 
absorption.  "Two  years  ago  to-night,  at 
quarter  past  eight,  I  promised  you  — " 

Mary  Alice  caught  a  hand  of  each  of  her 
companions  and,  with  both  her  own,  held 
them  close  together;  then  she  suddenly 
bowed  her  head,  and  her  shoulders  quivered 
with  a  little  sob. 

"Mary  Alice,  Mary  Alice,"  protested  Fran- 
cis, "don't  do  that,  dear.  Why,  what's 
the  —  what 's  the  matter?  " 

He  cast  an  appealing,  helpless  look  at 
Charlie,  whom  he  saw  to  be  quite  as  be- 
wildered as  himself.  Mary  Alice  looked  up 
through  a  mist  of  tears. 

"I» — just  —  couldn't  help  —  it,"  she 
said.  "I'm  so  —  hap-happy.  Oh,  Francis, 
Francis,  I  knew  you'd  keep  it.  I  never 
doubted  you  for  a  minute.  Now  can't  you 
see  it  has  been  —  better?  I  —  There,  your 
mother 's  looking  at  me.  Let 's  go  out  on  the 
porch  a  few  minutes." 

"Come  along,  too,  Charlie?"  asked  Francis. 

Charlie  smiled  slyly.  "Do  you  really 
want  me?"  he  asked. 


366  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

"Well,"  replied  Francis,  "  of  course  you  're 
always  welcome,  but  —  don't  you  think  the 
night  air  might  —  er  — " 

"Yes,"  said  Charlie,  "I  guess  it  might." 

Francis  and  Mary  Alice  disappeared,  and 
Charlie  joined  Mr.  Willett,  his  father  and 
Lem. 

"Do  you  know  what  Francis  says?"  asked 
Charlie.  "He  has  the  grandest  plan!" 

Charlie,  now  a  well-grown  boy  of  over 
fifteen,  had  never  got  over  that  habit  of 
using  superlatives.  He  was  above  all  things 
an  enthusiast.  Those  who  saw  him  cross  the 
room  noted  with  affectionate  satisfaction 
the  almost  entire  absence  of  the  halting  awk- 
wardness in  his  gait.  Long  ago  he  had  dis- 
carded his  riotous  yellow  wealth  of  hair,  and 
now  one  saw  the  splendid  proportions  of  the 
shapely  head,  with  its  broad,  thoughtful 
brow.  His  eyes,  clear  blue,  straightforward, 
frank,  and  usually  shining  with  a  vigorous 
good  will,  held  you  with  a  compelling  light. 

"Francis,"  he  went  on,  "has  made  Mr. 
Stacey  agree  to  give  half  the  money  they  take 
in  at  the  store  for  a  whole  week  to  the  Bel- 
gian relief  fund.  Is  n't  that  great?" 


TWO  YEARS  LATER  367 

"Le's  see,"  said  Sam;  "they  prob'ly  do 
a  business  of-  Now,  what  should  you  say 
they  take  in  down  there  in  a  week,  Mr. 
Willett?" 

Mary  Alice  burst  into  the  room.  "He's 
here,  he's  here,"  she  cried.  "It's  Doctor 
Billy.  Francis  just  saw  the  car  coming  up 
Clipper  —  " 

A  general  stampede  for  the  front  hall 
ensued. 

"I  did  my  best  to  come  on  the  earlier 
train,"  said  Jackson,  standing  with  his  back 
to  the  mantel,  while  all  the  company  viewed 
him  with  a  worshipful  interest.  "I  really 
ought  not  to  be  away  from  New  York. 
You  seem  to  have  quite  a  celebration 
under  way.  I  don't  know  that  I  —  er  — 
quite  fit,  do  I?  A  confirmed  old  bachelor 
is  n't  exactly  an  ornament  on  an  occasion 
like  this." 

"Aren't  you  dreadful!"  said  Mary  Alice. 

"I  guess  you're  not  the  only  confirmed  old 
bachelor,**  said  Charlie  Thomas. 

Doctor  Billy  twinkled  at  the  boy  through 
his  great  spectacles  and  smiled  quizzically. 
Charlie  slipped  an  arm  around  Mary  Alice. 


368  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

"Francis  stole  her  from  me,"  he  said  sadly. 
"I'm  a  broken-hearted  man." 

Mary  Alice  turned  a  becoming  pink  and, 
pushing  him  away,  murmured  something 
that  sounded  like  "Fresh  young-one."  But 
everybody  laughed,  except  little  Dick  Brown, 
who  interposed:  "Aw,  Francis  has  got  a 
store.  He's  goin'  to  give  me  a  job  in  the  toy 
department  when — " 

"Will  you  please  hush?"  cried  Mary  Alice, 
and  the  company  roared  again. 

"It's  marvelous  to  see  you  all  once  more 
and  in  one  place,"  said  Doctor  Billy.  "Aside 
from  the  great  event,  what's  the  news  with 
you?" 

"We  had  ice  cream,"  began  Dicky,  "and- 
and   my   father 's   invented   a  new   kind   o* 
cream   speculator  and — " 

"Mother,  please,"  begged  Mary  Alice, 
" can't  you  make  Dicky  "behave?" 

"Billy,"  said  John  Willett,  "I  asked  you 
to  come  here  to-night  for  two  reasons.  The 
first  you  know  —  about  my  boy  and  this 
little  girl.  You  know  her  as  well  as  we  do 
—  and  love  her.  We  wanted  you  to  be  here 
to  congratulate  the  Willett  family."  He 


TWO  YEARS  LATER  369 

caught  Mary  Alice  about  the  shoulders  and 
held  her  to  him.  "To-night  she  promises  to 
be  our  daughter,  and  the  day  she  takes  our 
name  will  be  the  happiest  of  our  lives.  Can't 
you  see  that  an  event  like  this  would  n't  be 
complete  without  our  Doctor  Billy?" 

Doctor  Billy  blew  his  nose  rather  violently, 
took  off  his  big  spectacles  and  examined  them 
critically;  but  he  said  not  a  word.  John 
Willett  went  on. 

"But  the  other  reason  I  asked  you  to  come 
was  this.  I  did  n't  want  the  day  to  go  by 
without  my  doing  something  to  prove  that 
I  'm  not  altogether  blinded  by  my  own  hap- 
piness. Sometimes,  when  I  read  the  appalling 
things  in  the  papers  these  days,  I'm  almost 
afraid  this  poor  old  world  of  ours  is  tumbling 
to  pieces.  Across  the  water  men  are  going 
insane  with  the  passion  of  killing.  Women 
and  children,  the  poor,  the  aged,  the  weak, 
are  suffering  horrors  that  cannot  be  told, 
that  would  n't  bear  the  telling. 

"Some  American  business  men  are  saying 
that  this  means  great  prosperity  for  us. 
I  can't  think  so;  and  if  it  does,  I  declare  the 
cost  of  that  prosperity  is  too  great.  I  don't 


870  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

wish  to  profit  by  it,  but  I  feel  that  I  should 
give  something  out  of  my  own  prosperity. 
I  want  to  be  able  to  say  that  I  made  some 
adequate  sacrifice  in  return  for  the  good  that 
life  has  given  me." 

Everybody  in  the  room  had  fallen  breath- 
lessly silent;  for  John  Willett  had  kept  his 
own  counsel,  and  not]  even  his  wife  sus- 
pected the  purpose  behind  his  words.  It  is 
easy  to  read  them  —  it  was  hard  for  Willett 
to  say  them.  They  came  haltingly,  for  the 
man  was  tense  with  embarrassment.  Even 
among  these  few  people  who  had  come  to 
know  him  so  well,  he  was  almost  shamefaced. 

"Now,  Billy,  you  have  written  me  a  great 
deal  of  your  work  for  the  relief  of  the  suffering 
in  Europe,  but  not  all.  I  have  read  between 
the  lines,  and  I  have  learned  from  other 
sources,  that  you  have  sacrificed  your  prac- 
tice, your  income,  and  your  time  for  this 
work.  I  want  to  help  you  and  to  enable  you 
to  go  on  helping  the  others.  So  here  is  my 
little  gift  to  help  meet  the  great  need  in 
blighted  Europe.  I  give  it  without  any  re- 
strictions; but,  Billy,  if  you  can,  won't  you 
see  that  it  —  that  it  goes  as  far  as  possi- 


TWO  YEARS  LATER  371 

ble  for  the  relief  of  the  little  people,  for  the 
children  and  mothers  of  children?" 

He  thrust  a  folded  paper  into  Doctor  Billy's 
hand.  Jackson  unfolded  it,  scanned  it,  and 
looked  up. 

"Why,  John,"  he  said  in  bewilderment, 
"it 's  too  —  how  can  you  —  afford  — " 

"I'm  not  going  to  starve,"  said  Willett. 
"I'm  not  an  old  man,  either.  But  can't 
you  see  that,  unless  I  give  you  practically 
every  available  dollar  I  have,  it's  no  hardship? 
And  there's  no  sacrifice  where  there's  no 
hardship." 

"It's  incredible,"  said  Doctor  Billy,  "in- 
credible. Still  —  no,  it  isn't.  It's  like  you, 
John.  It  was  always  your  way  of  doing 
things." 

He  held  out  a  hand,  which  trembled,  and 
John  Willett  gripped  it  hard. 

"I'll  try,"  said  Doctor  Billy,  "to  see  that 
the  money  is  spent  as  you  ask,  John.  And  as 
I'm  going  over  there  next  week,  I  can — " 

"You  are  going  to  Europe?"  It  was 
Willett's  turn  to  be  astonished.  "Why, 
Billy  —  well,  I  might  have  known  it!" 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

"A   SYMBOL   OF   THE   GRAIL" 

MY  DEAR  MARY  ALICE  BROWN: 

This  letter  may  not  reach  you  until  you  have 
become  Mary  Alice  Willett.  The  mails  are,  of 
course,  most  unreliable.  I  am  here  among  the 
wounded,  the  suffering,  the  poverty-stricken 
people  of  prostrate  Belgium.  Because  of  the 
generosity  of  my  lifelong  friend,  I  am  able  to  do 
vastly  more  and  better  work  than  I  had  ever 
hoped. 

But  I  am  not  writing  you  this  letter  to  tell  you 
of  that.  I  am  writing  to  wish  you  a  life  of  hap- 
piness with  Francis,  and  I  know  that  because  you 
have  already  learned  how  to  live,  yours  will  be  a 
useful  and  blessed  life.  Some  of  my  friends  tell 
me  that  I  am  a  —  yes,  a  crank  on  the  subject  of 
useful  living.  But  they  smile  when  they  say  it, 
and  I  actually  take  it  as  a  compliment. 

I  am  sending  you,  through  the  hands  of  a  friend 
who  is  just  sailing  for  New  York,  a  small  wedding 
token,  but  not  anything  very  splendid.  I  do  not 
think  you  will  treasure  it  the  less  because  it  is  rather 
humble.  It  is  the  work  of  a  Belgian  woman  - 
just  a  little  piece  of  embroidery.  She  gave  it  to 
me  because  I  had  been  able  to  help  her  son,  who 

372 


373 

was  wounded  in  battle.  I  told  her  I  should  send 
it  to  you,  and  she  asked  me  to  give  you  her  love 
with  it,  along  with  my  own. 

In  the  same  package  you  will  find  something  else 
—  a  Swiss  watch ;  and  this,  too,  was  given  me  by 
one  of  my  —  shall  I  say,  my  children  ?  He  was 
a  German  soldier,  who  had  been  wounded  in  one 
of  those  desperate  charges  in  which  bravery  has 
seemed  to  count  for  so  little.  And  he  was  a  brave 
man;  he  had  been  a  skilled  artisan  at  home  and 
had  left  the  bench  to  take  up  arms  for  his  Em- 
peror. Right  or  wrong,  he  fought  for  his  Emperor, 
loyally,  unquestioningly,  and  with  sublime  cour- 
age. So  he  died,  as  thousands  are  dying  and  will 
die. 

Mary  Alice,  I  want  you  to  give  the  watch  to 
Charlie  Thomas  —  our  "Little  Sir  Galahad."  I 
want  him  to  have  it  because  I  know  that,  but  for 
him,  I  should  not  have  been  here.  It  was  he  who 
first  crystallized  in  my  mind  the  idea  of  knightly 
service.  I  think  if  you  will  trace  the  events  of  your 
own  life,  you  will  without  hesitation  admit  the 
blessed  influence  of  his  beautiful  personality  upon 
all  of  us  who  know  him. 

He  told  me,  on  my  last  visit  to  Sheffield,  that 
he  had  reorganized  the  Galahad  Knights,  and  I 
enrolled  promptly  as  a  member.  So  he  knows 
that  there  is  one  of  his  knights  spreading  the 
Galahad  gospel  here.  I  often  tell  my  poor 
wounded  boys  about  Charlie.  They  immedi- 
ately want  to  be  enrolled  as  knights,  and  I  have 
sent  Charlie  scores  of  names  to  add  to  what  he 
calls  the  "roll  of  honor."  His  knights  at  home 


374  LITTLE   SIR   GALAHAD 

have  devised  a  little  pin,  and  I  have  a  supply  of 
them.  Some  of  them,  alas,  have  been  buried 
upon  the  brave  breasts  of  their  wearers. 

I  could  not  write  this  to  him  direct,  for  I 
think  he  would  be  embarrassed  by  so  much 
praise.  But  when  you  give  him  the  watch,  won't 
you  tell  him  that  it  was  given  me  by  Corporal 
Hans  Bauer,  a  true  and  loyal  Galahad,  and  that 
it  is  passed  along  to  him  as  the  gift  of  another 
devoted  knight. 

Your  affectionate  friend, 
WILLIAM  JACKSON. 

This  letter  came  to  Mary  Alice  one  after- 
noon about  a  week  before  her  wedding  day. 
She  read  it  and  cried  a  little,  and  next  day 
after  the  expressman  had  called  she  ran  across 
the  fields  to  the  Thomas  farmhouse. 

Charlie  was  sitting  in  the  sideyard,  work- 
ing at  some  water-color  sketches.  He  had 
brought  out  the  big  sturdy  chair  which  Sam 
had  built  for  him  in  the  days  of  his  crippled 
childhood,  and  which  he  would  never  consent 
to  see  stowed  away  in  the  attic.  The  summer 
wind  fluttered  his  sheets  as  he  worked.  Hens 
pecked  busily  about,  uttering  small,  con- 
tented, throaty  sounds.  Charlie  looked  up 
and  off  across  the  fields  to  where  his  friends 
the  mountains,  delicately  tinted  in  the  light 


"A  SYMBOL  OF  THE  GRAIL"         375 

of  the  setting  sun,  stood,  opaline,  sentinels 
of  unchanging  peace. 

"Charlie-boy,"  called  Martha  from  the 
door,  "isn't  that  Mary  Alice  coming  up  the 
hill?" 

"Of  course  it  is,  and  she's  running.  She 
must  have  some  news.  I  wonder  where 's 
the  Boss." 

Sam  emerged  from  the  dairy.  "Did  I 
hear  my  name  mentioned?"  he  asked. 

"Look  at  Mary  Alice,"  said  Charlie. 
"She'd  better  go  slower;  she'll  be  all  out  of 
breath." 

The  three  watched  the  girl  approach  and 
Charlie  called  a  good-natured  warning.  Mary 
Alice  dropped  down  on  the  grass  and  panted. 
She  had  a  small,  plain  wooden  box  in  her  hand. 

"Hullo,  Mary  Alice,"  said  Charlie. 
"What's  your  great  rush?  What's  that  in 
your  hand  —  another  wedding  present?" 

"It's  —it's  for  you,"  she  said.  "I--I 
-  had  a  letter  from  Doctor  Billy,  in  Belgium, 
and  a  present  from  him  — :  the  dearest  piece 
of  embroidery  —  and  this  was  with  it." 

She  passed  the  little  box  to  Charlie,  while 
Martha  and  Sam  looked  on,  mildly  curious. 


376  LITTLE  SIR  GALAHAD 

"Just  like  that  Doctor  Billy,"  said  Martha. 
"He's  always  thinking  of  something  to 
please  people.  Why,  Charlie-boy,  it's  a 
watch." 

Sam  took  it  and  turned  it  over  and  over. 
Then  he  snapped  open  the  case. 

"Here's  some  writin',"  he  said.    "It's  en- 
graved   here    inside    the    case.      It    says  - 
here,  Marthy,  you  read  it.    I  —  I  can't." 

Neither  could  Martha.  She  handed  the 
watch  to  Mary  Alice,  fishing  meanwhile  in 
her  apron  pocket  for  her  handkerchief. 

Mary  Alice  looked  at  the  inscription, 
blinked,  and  then  read,  quite  bravely: 

TO  LITTLE   SIR   GALAHAD 

A   SYMBOL  OF  THE   GRAIL 

WHICH  HE   SO  FAITHFULLY   SEEKS 

AND   TO   WHICH 
HE   EVER   DRAWS   NEARER 

The  girl  reached  up  a  hand  and  took  that 
of  the  boy. 

"As  soon  as  I  —  can — "  she  said,  "I'll 
tell  you  where  he  got  it." 

"Good  old  Uncle  Billy!"  said  Little  Sir 
Galahad.  "He's  the  finest  knight  of  us  all!" 


